


It All Starts With Wanting

by Eyanril



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Basically there are so few men that some women share, Classism, Cunnilingus, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gingerrose - Freeform, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Finn/Paige Tico, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Menstruation, Mentions of Cancer, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Armitage Hux/Phasma, Minor Finn/Rose Tico, Minor Poe Dameron/Finn, Miscarriage, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Armitage Hux/OC, Possessive Behavior, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Rey is a Palpatine (Star Wars), Reylo - Freeform, Rose Tico Deserved Better, Sexual Slavery, Submissive Armitage Hux, There are some harem situations going on here, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Why does everyone in Star Wars have dead mothers, Women In Power, no betas we die like men, past ben solo/oc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 39,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26488003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyanril/pseuds/Eyanril
Summary: It's been over twenty years since a plague wiped out most of the men on earth. Those that remain are carefully managed assets, purchasable flesh for women who can afford them.Rose, struggling to move beyond tragedy, wants a baby more than anything.  Armitage Hux, cast off by his previous mistress, may be more than a means to an end.Rey, heir to a great fortune, wants for nothing.  Ben Solo, saved from the dark underbelly of society, may be the one thing she needs.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 39
Kudos: 99





	1. Rose - Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Island Effect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719903) by Anonymous. 



> Well here's one of those WIPs I alluded to in my comments on "Second Skin". 
> 
> Inspired by "The Island Effect" by Anon. After reading that earlier this year, I started musing on a similar concept, so... 
> 
> Basically this my take on a Handmaid's Tale-esque (sort of), low-fertility society, but gender flipped, where the women are in power and the men are the rare commodity. Also borrowing (in a very loose way) ideas from Y: The Last Man and Naomi Alderman's book The Power.
> 
> Title borrowed from one of my favorite lines from Ginger Snaps II: Unleashed.
> 
> Rated E because there will be smut...eventually.
> 
> Please mind the tags! I tried to be overly aggressive in tagging things that might upset people, and a lot of it is referenced in this first chapter, so you know what you're getting into. That said, if there's something that's not there and should be, tell me and I will gladly add it, and I'll try to update accordingly as I publish chapters.
> 
> I fully acknowledge this fic will not be to everyone's taste, and has uncomfortable/problematic content that is part and parcel of this world I've created. Please remember it's just fiction and I'm not condoning any real world stuff here.
> 
> There will be POV chapters from each of the four main characters...I think... The only one I haven't actually written content for yet is Ben, but I intend to...so both pairings are going to be featured roughly the same amount. (I know I'm not the only one who checks for GingerRose fics under the Armitage Hux/Rose Tico tag and is disappointed when I find they are literally just background characters to the Reylo, haha). 
> 
> That said, we begin with Rose...enjoy!

A cold, steady drizzle fell on the day Rose stood in front of the gates of First Order for the second time in four years, cursing the spring shower and her nerves and wondering where the hell Jannah was. 

“This was a bad idea,” she muttered to herself. The weather had been chilly and wet all week, a foreboding omen if ever there was one. If Rose believed in that kind of stuff. Which she didn’t, she reminded herself vehemently, shuffling from foot to foot and trying to hold her inadequate umbrella against the wind and the rain. Still, she would have welcomed sun and warmer temperatures to bolster her optimism that, this time, things would work out.

By the time a cab pulled up to the curb five minutes later, Rose’s right arm was thoroughly drenched and she shivered as she watched Jannah pay the driver. 

“Sorry, sorry — got held up at Resistance. Shit, Rose,” the other woman cursed as she lunged to join her under the shelter of the flimsy nylon, “Why didn’t you just go in?”

Rose shrugged, but the answer was obvious: she hadn’t been able to force herself through those polished double doors alone. With Jannah by her side, she felt brave enough, if barely, and was grateful when Jannah threw an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

“Ready?” Jannah asked, smiling. “Gird your loins!” They both burst into laughter.

As they pushed their way into the lobby, the stern countenance of the doorwoman checked their mirth, and she directed Rose’s attention to an umbrella stand near the door with a sharp nod of her head.

“We have an appointment,” Jannah offered. “Calrissian and Tico. For…”

“Consultation, yes. You’re on the list. Take the elevator to the seventh floor and they’ll direct you from there.”

Rose could have found her own way, but she didn’t bother to state that. She nodded politely through the receptionist’s welcome, followed when the young woman ushered them down a long hallway and opened a door at the far end, and only faltered when the receptionist left them to their own devices to await the caseworker.

The bottom-tier consultation room looked cheap and sterile, unlike everything else at the firm: chipped grey formica and beaten-up polypropylene instead of warm-toned wood and cushioned seats. Rose couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that they’d been ushered here, instead of the upscale room she had seen, twice now, through the double doors of the reception area. That room was only for clientele like Rey: multi-millionaires, women who could afford the very best men money could buy. Still, this was a far cry from the cozy office she and Paige had waited in on their visit.

She slid into her plastic chair. Jannah joined her a moment later, looking at her own chair with disdain before perching on the edge. Fiddling with a pen, Rose started tapping it on the table, increasing the frequency and volume until the other woman sighed and clapped a hand over Rose’s, silencing it.

“We can still turn around and walk away, you know.” Jannah was frowning at her. “If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.”

“No, I want to do this now, before I completely chicken out.” 

“Okay, ladies!” A cheerful, middle aged caseworker bustled in, a stack of manila folders in her hands. Her name tag proclaimed “Mary” in swirling, schoolgirl script, and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Are we ready to pick out the man of your dreams? Here at First Order—”

“You can save the spiel,” Rose interrupted, unable to keep the impatience from her voice. “We’ve done this before. Well, I have, at least.”

Mary humphed, her sunny demeanor instantly deflating. “Fair enough. We’ll get right to it.” She pulled out their application, recited from it. “Yes, I see. Rose Tico: became a client in 2025; dyad arrangement with sister….” The caseworker trailed off, but Rose knew, in a cold, clinical summary, what the rest of the file said: _...Paige Tico._ _Assigned asset FN-2187._ Finn. _Dyad contract dissolved upon death of Paige Tico: 2027. Under mutual agreement, FN-2187 reassigned to one Zorii Bliss, solo contract. One child, female, deceased in utero: 2027._

She almost folded right there and then, recounting the facts in her mind: back into herself, back into the depression she thought she had finally broken free from. It was only Jannah’s hand on her shoulder that steadied her. 

“Well...ah, I’m sorry for your loss.” Mary cleared her throat, rushed on when it was clear Rose wasn’t going to respond. “So, as long as you’ve filled Miss Calrissian in on the basics…” Jannah nodded curtly. “...we’ll just skip to the recent policy updates. Number one: each client must provide their assigned asset with a cell phone with the Asset Welfare Agency’s phone number pre-programmed in. We provide base model phones to serve this purpose with the contract, but any phone will do. A caseworker will verify this upon delivery.” When neither of them offered any protest, she continued. “Number two: there is a ninety-day money-back guarantee policy that I’m not sure you’re aware of. Of course we fully expect our clients to be satisfied on first match, but in case—”

“We’re aware of the money-back guarantee policy,” Rose interjected again. “It used to be 120 days, if I recall.”

“Indeed. We’ve found that ninety days is more than sufficient for the asset to get settled in and the client to decide whether or not it’s a good fit. And lastly, there’s the matter of cost.”

 _Hit us with dollar signs right at the end of the sales pitch, of course_ , Rose thought. “Oh?”

“Yes. Our finders’ fee has gone up in the last six months. This is, of course, on top of the contract price, which will vary by asset. Our fee is now a flat 20% across the board...” 

Rose couldn’t even remember what the fee had been last time. It hadn’t mattered — she and Paige had been too excited about the prospect of finding someone to fulfill their needs. But the change in venue said it all — the service was essentially the same, but demand had gone up considerably, and so had the price tag. A lot of women who had been young children at the time of the plague were now on the hunt for reproductive partners, and the limited pool from which they could choose was getting smaller and smaller. And because Rose and Jannah couldn’t afford to throw money around with the big spenders, they were stuck in this sad-looking room. 

Everything was so different than when Rose had been here with Paige, eager for companionship and, hopefully, a baby they could raise together. They had been blind, Rose knew now: rarely did the outcomes promised in the First Order advertisements come to pass. _Live happily ever after?_ Not likely, in her experience.

The caseworker continued to blather on, and now she was fanning the manila folders out in front of them. There were less than Rose expected — only a baker’s dozen, all thin — except one, which had a thick wad of paper inside. Rose reached for that one first, but Mary pulled it out of reach at the last second, smiling.

“Why don’t you take a look at the rest, and then I’ll give you the details on this one. It’s sort of a… _special_ circumstance. I wasn’t even sure if I should include it, to be honest.”

“Alright,” Jannah said, no nonsense as usual. “Give us half an hour.” 

As soon as Mary let the door swing shut behind her, Jannah huffed. “For the astronomical fucking price we’re paying, I expected better treatment.” She flipped open a file, started to peruse. “Some champagne or something, while we shop.”

“You know how grateful I am right?” Rose reached over and squeezed Jannah’s hand. “Without your contribution, I wouldn’t even be able to afford bottom tier. Can’t believe they shortened the trial period to ninety days. That’s only three cycles, and mine are never consistent.”

“We can still make a run for it...” Jannah motioned to the door. “Scour the dark web for a sperm donor…” She was only joking, of course — the sperm banks, once plentiful before the plague, had long been depleted and outlawed. Now the only way to conceive without a contract was to break several statutes and risk one’s own health.

Some women still took that gamble, but Rose hadn’t quite gotten to that level of desperation. _Yet._

“No. Might as well try the old-fashioned way. Can return him at 11:59 PM on Day 90 if we have to. Try again with a different one.” Rose pulled a folder over, but she couldn’t bring herself to open it. Instead her mind went to the memory of finding Finn’s kind face nestled in one of these, and her stomach soured.

Jannah had already pawed through three or four before Rose came back to herself. “Oh look, this one’s got really nice eyes. Six feet tall, IQ median of 110. No genetic predispositions or defects.” Jannah held up the folder, flashing the five-by-seven photo so Rose could see.

The man was attractive, Rose agreed, with very straight white teeth and a wide smile. He was younger than either of them at twenty-one years old, and untested, but that wasn’t always a negative. The younger ones were more biddable, she’d heard, and youth often came with a higher sperm count. She flipped through the rest of the photos attached: nude body length shots from all four sides, then a close up of his penis, fully erect. Rose’s eyes widened considerably.

“Yeah?” Jannah asked, snatching the folder back. “Hmmm. This one is definitely going in the ‘maybe’ pile.”

It took them another twenty minutes to sift through the rest; only three assets made the cut. All young, all unproven. The proven ones often stayed where they were, of course, in case lightning struck twice. _If_ the woman or women holding the contract could afford to keep them. 

_If_ they loved them.

“Well, honestly, I’m leaning towards the first one,” Jannah said, as they examined all three lined up in a row. “He’s got the highest IQ of the bunch, and he’s good looking. Plus…” Jannah raised her eyebrows, and Rose laughed. “I mean, you might as well enjoy yourself while you’re getting knocked up, sweetie.”

“You too,” Rose reminded, biting her lip as she eyed each man in turn. “You know...I think…” Her hand landed on the first file, and Jannah smiled.

The caseworker bustled back through the swinging door. “Make a decision, ladies?” The thicker folder was tucked under her arm. 

Rose pulled her hand back. “Almost. But I want to see what’s so _special_ about that one, first,” she said, emphasizing the word “special” just like Mary had, earning a wrinkle of the woman’s nose.

“Well, this is highly unusual, but we’ve had a return.”

“I thought you said—”

“After a decade.” Mary pursed her lips. “Unprecedented, actually. There’s nothing physically wrong with him — in fact, his sperm count is rather high for his age. It was…” She wouldn’t say the words ‘the woman’s fault,’ because their society didn’t believe that: not any more. Any deficiency was the man’s.

“So why was he returned?” Jannah asked, holding out her hand, but the caseworker still hesitated to pass the folder over.

“The client said she wanted... ‘fresh meat’...to use her words. Now, ladies, if I show this to you and you decide, for whatever reason, not to take this asset, I’m going to have to have you sign a confidentiality agreement. He came from a rather high profile home, and our client asked that we respect her privacy... and that extends to you.”

 _Shit,_ Rose thought, _a multi-million dollar cast off. Just how expensive is he?_ Curiosity chomped on her innards like a creature in a cage. “We’ll risk it.” She held her hand out alongside Jannah’s. Mary finally slid the folder into their grasps.

“I’ll give you another five minutes. The firm lawyer and the AWA rep will be joining us when I return.” She disappeared out the door again.

“Well, well. Look who we have here,” Jannah murmured when she opened the file to a photograph of a tall, thin man with red hair.

“Wait, isn’t that—”

“Phasma’s boytoy? Yeah. I’m pretty sure.” Jannah flipped through the pages, slammed her finger on a line in the intake form. _Previous contract holder: Phasma Argyros. Duration: 9 years, 7 months._

His name was _Armitage_ of all things, Rose recalled, from an article she had read in _Vogue_ a half decade ago, detailing the heiress’s private life. He had only been mentioned in passing, of course: a flippant remark from Miss Argyros about her shenanigans in the boudoir. “Armitage keeps me satisfied, and if he doesn’t, I have the _others._ ” A cheeky answer, accompanied by a cheeky but stunning photograph of her surrounded by four men, all half dressed. It was this photo, clipped from the magazine itself, that was the second thing Rose pulled out of the pile. It was just like she remembered: the statuesque blonde lounging in profile on a chaise, the redhead leaning over the back towards her, sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt rolled up past his elbows, and top buttons open to expose a length of pale chest. Her hand cupping his chin as he looked at her in adoration. Another man at her feet, and two more posing in the background. 

_Oh, to have money,_ Rose thought at the time, fantasizing about being surrounded by all that masculine flesh, about someone looking at her with such brazen desire. Now she focused on his face. Was it real love she saw in his gaze? She knew the assets were trained from a young age, schooled to do and say certain things to keep their mistresses happy. But surely, after so long, he must have felt _something_?

She tried not to think about Finn and how things had ended. It hadn’t been his fault that he had been taught to repress his true feelings. He had tried to give her and Paige what they wanted with a smile on his face. Had almost succeeded, too. And then the accident...

He had kept trying, even as Rose struggled against the current of her grief, and he buried his own. 

Him falling in love with Poe hadn’t been planned. 

It had still hurt, though. 

He had left with Zorii and his lover, finally free of his obligation to her.

Rose had been so utterly _alone._ It had been her friendship with Jannah that had pulled her back from the brink more than once. And when Jannah, after moving in, had offered to split the costs of an asset with her, Rose had finally seen a light at the end of the tunnel. 

A baby of her own, to love. To replace what had been lost. Her hand dipped to her stomach. Even if she hadn’t carried it herself, the baby had _felt_ like hers.

“Are you alright?” Jannah asked, sudden, startling Rose back to the present. Her sharp eyes were trained on Rose: she’d seen the breakdowns before, knew what to watch for.

“Yeah,” Rose managed. “S’okay. Just...thinking.” 

There were other photographs in the file, ripped from newspapers and gossip mag spreads, featuring the woman in question front and center, but _he_ was always there in the background, wearing designer suits and what looked like a permanent sneer on his handsome face. _He is handsome_ , Rose thought, disregarding the sharp downturn of his mouth: whetted cheekbones, a long sloping nose, intense green eyes. And that pale complexion and shock of red-gold hair — that his appearance was the opposite of Finn’s in almost every way only heightened the appeal. She found herself wondering what this man would look like wearing a smile instead of a scowl, and little else.

“No nudes,” Jannah groused. “Well, I don’t know what the hell is supposed to be the draw, here. Sure, he’s got a gifted level IQ, but just...look at him,” Jannah said. “His face looks like he’s been sucking on a sourball for ten years. And he’s...old.”

Rose checked the age listed. _She acts like thirty-five is ancient._ “His sperm count is the highest.” 

“Allegedly. I mean, he was with Phasma for almost a decade...”

“I don’t think they could falsify data like that...legally, I mean. Maybe she wasn’t trying to get pregnant. There are still women out there who don’t want kids.” _Lucky bitches,_ she thought. The pull towards motherhood had always been strong for her, and after the accident it had only sharpened into a stabbing pain when she saw women with children...everywhere. On the street. In the park. In the ER where she worked. She had to watch the poor things suffer with illness, offer what little comfort she could to mother and to child — fevers and burst appendices and broken bones. Sometimes worse. She’d broken down mid-shift once: a hit-and-run that left a little girl gasping for breath on the operating table...and then gone. A month sabbatical followed, and her colleagues had tried harder to shield her from the worst of it after that.

Jannah sighed. “I know, Rose. But it just seems too good to be true. Look at the contract price…it’s lower even than pretty boy’s. No one higher on the food chain wants this guy, or they wouldn’t even be offering him to us.”

Rose was still holding the photo from _Vogue_. It was the only one where he looked capable of more than flagrant disdain for those around him. 

He looked soft. Vulnerable. 

_Devoted._

“I...I think he’s the best bet,” Rose murmured, watching Jannah’s face sour just like the man in question. “And,” she added hastily, “If he ends up being a dud, we’ll put that money-back guarantee to good use.”

Jannah crossed her arms, frowning. “I’m holding you to that. You know I’m with you one hundred percent, Rose. I just have my doubts about this one.” She reached out and took Rose’s hand. “But okay.” 

Hope swelled in Rose’s chest. This man would give her what she wanted, and then they could be done with him. She didn’t need blind devotion, she didn’t need that smile she imagined playing on his lips. She needed his cock inside her, and that life-giving seed only he could provide. 

She squeezed Jannah’s fingers. “Deal, then?”

“Deal.”

When the suits — two corporate women in almost-identical navy Ann Taylor with matching frowns — filed into the room, the caseworker on their heels, Rose had pushed the other three files to the periphery and left Armitage Hux’s open, facing their side of the table.

“All set? Ah,” Mary said. She closed the folder, exchanged looks with the lawyer and the AWA rep. “Are you sure, dear?” She addressed Rose alone, with the condescending tone of a matron who had been around the block a time or two. 

But Rose wasn’t budging.

She flashed them a smile — the caseworker, the suits, Jannah — and it surprised her how little effort it took. Picked up a pen. “I’m sure. Where do I sign?” 


	2. Rey - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this one got away from me...I ended up doubling the word count during edits.
> 
> That said: this chapter is fairly exposition heavy, so I apologize for that, but there was quite a bit of backstory I wanted to establish for these two characters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

If someone had asked Rey where she expected to be on the first really nice day of spring, she could have offered a dozen answers, most of them to do with her family’s prizewinning thoroughbreds: lunging a yearling in the round pen, or standing at the rail of the training oval, watching one of the two-year-olds exercise. 

Sitting in the FBI field office in the city certainly wouldn’t have made the list. It was a scenario so absurd it wouldn’t have crossed her mind in a million years.

And yet here she was, sequestered inside, waiting on an agent to tell her why the hell she was here when the weather was gorgeous and she had a metric fuck ton of shit to do and only thirteen hours of daylight in which to do it. 

When her grandmother had died three years before and Rey had inherited ownership of Empire Farms, she found that, thanks to a foolproof management plan, the business side of things practically ran itself. But unlike her predecessor, who tended to admire the magnificent animals she kept from afar, with a martini in one hand and a fan in the other, Rey preferred to be hands on — and she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. She mucked stalls and mended fences, hot walked and held legs for the farriers, quickly earning the respect of the seasoned employees who were skeptical a twenty-two year old, fresh out of college, could handle the reins of one of the country’s foremost racing operations. And the horses had always been a comfort to her — intelligent animals, each with their own personality and quirks. Her grandmother had not been an overly demonstrative woman, so Rey had lavished affection on her four-legged friends instead, and many in the industry agreed the thoroughbreds from Empire were all the sounder and steadier for it.

But the hands on approach meant long days, and when 5 PM rolled around every evening, Rey was typically exhausted. She had channeled what remaining energy she had into her relationships with her friends — the only family she had left, really — and into developing an Empire Farms-affiliated nonprofit to put some of those millions to good use. 

The press liked to speculate on her relationship status at least once a fortnight, but there was little to tell. She didn’t have time for man, and wasn’t likely to find time in the future.

And she certainly didn’t have time for this. She cleared her throat for the third instance in as many minutes, and one of the agents, who was leaning over the computer of a colleague, looked up and smiled apologetically. She was older, with a middle-aged thickness around her waist and dark circles under her eyes, but she looked friendly. Rey was relieved when it was she who finally crossed to the office and shut the door behind her.

“Good morning. Thanks for coming in. I’m Agent Green.”

“Good morning. Rey Palpatine.”

They shook hands. Green’s grip was firm but warm. Rey liked her already.

Green smiled again as she sat behind the desk. “I have to admit, the British accent is throwing me. I expected Mrs. Palpatine’s granddaughter to be—”

“Southern? Technically I was born in the States, but when the plague came and my father died, my mother brought me back to London, where she was from. I spent almost ten years of my life there. The accent stuck.”

“Well I like it. You sound so sophisticated compared to us hicks,” Green laughed. “Just so you’re aware, I’m going to be recording this conversation.” She laid her phone on the desk in clear view. 

Rey watched her hit the start button, but before Green could launch into more small talk, she blurted out: “Excuse me for being abrupt, but I was very surprised to get your call. What am I doing here, Agent Green?”

“Ah, well. I was wondering if you could tell me if First Order has contacted you lately about any assets, particularly ones at auction.”

“Umm, can’t say they have.” Rey had gone shopping there once, back during university at her grandmother’s insistence, but nothing had ever come of the trip. She hadn’t even realized the asset management firm _held_ auctions.

“So you haven’t been contacted by anyone at First Order about an asset named Ben Solo? Newly acquired, available for private bidding for a select few?”

“No. Wait...Solo...as in, late husband of Senator Organa? Their son?” She tried to picture his face from the news articles about the senator, the ones that never failed to bring up her estranged family.

Green nodded. “The very one.”

“I thought he was dead?”

“Oh no, Ms. Palpatine. Ben Solo is very much alive.” She paused for dramatic effect, letting it sink in. Then: “I trust you are familiar with the Rebel Alliance?”

The so-called “Rebel Alliance” had holed up in various towns across the country for the better part of ten years in the time immediately following the plague. Self-styled freedom fighters, consisting of individuals who disagreed with the general way society had begun trending and with the development of the asset designation in particular, they resorted to acts of minor domestic terrorism until they had splintered into multiple factions in the mid-2020s. 

“Yes,” Rey said. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t a woman on the planet who doesn’t know who they are.”

“True. Well, at some point during the years they were most active, young Ben Solo disappeared into the Rebel Alliance network with his legal guardian, his uncle Luke Skywalker. He was photographed at various demonstrations throughout 2010 and 2011, then less and less as the years went on.” The caseworker slid two photographs across the table — one of Ben at the cusp of his teenage years, all angles and gangly limbs, looking lost and holding a protest sign up that said “Men Are Not Meat,” citing popular Rebel rhetoric that assets were treated like animals at a market. The other photo had been taken a half dozen years later, and the boy had become a man more or less, although there was still an immature air to his countenance, twisted in a snarl as he yelled in the face of a policewoman. “Then in 2018, when he was twenty years old, he disappeared from the Rebel Alliance completely. It’s long been suspected he and Luke had a falling out of some sort. We know very little of what came next for Ben Solo...however, around the same time, a sinister presence on the dark web began to emerge.”

“Snoke.” Another older man who had miraculously survived the plague and had balked at the new world order, but with a decidedly sinister agenda. He called his terrorist ring The Final Order, in mockery of the company who regulated the assets. Any acts The Final Order perpetrated were twice as deadly and therefore twice as effective as anything the Rebel Alliance had ever managed to pull off, and they didn’t bother to disguise their hatred for authority as pleas for reform. Violence for violence’s sake was all they believed in.

“Snoke,” Agent Green agreed, curling her lip in disdain. “And along with him, a man who called himself Kylo Ren.” 

_A monster, a tale told to frighten children: the masked madman, dressed all in black, with his ridiculous laser sword. A reaper who did his master’s bidding with a cruel glee that made the most gruesome horror story seem tame._ Rey had never quite believed the hype...while he may have been a psychopath, he was still just a man, not some otherworldly beast.

She could see where this was heading. “You think that Ben Solo is...was...Kylo Ren.”

“We do. At the height of Snoke’s power, Ren was his right-hand man, leading attacks across the States. Then the tide shifted abruptly, and in March 2027, both Snoke and Kylo Ren seemed to disappear without a trace. Thanks to recent discoveries, we know now that Snoke is still alive, presumably biding his time. But we had no idea what happened to Kylo Ren...until Ben Solo surfaced again, two weeks ago.” She shook her head. “We have no clue where First Order found him or how they got ahold of him, but it’s imperative he doesn’t vanish into the ether again, and we’re afraid if we make a move in an obvious way that he will. That’s why—” 

Rey held up a hand. “Back up. You’re telling me that one of the most notorious criminals in recent history is currently sitting at an asset management firm, available at private auction to a carefully curated list of clientele?”

“Yes. Clientele like _you_.” She let the implication hang in the air.

Eyes widening, Rey scoffed. “You can’t be serious. You want me to... _buy_ his contract?” When Green didn’t deny it, Rey flustered, pushed on. “You want me to take that man _into my house_? He’s a cold-blooded murderer.”

“Kylo Ren was a murderer—”

“Kylo Ren, Ben Solo — they’re the same person, aren’t they?”

Agent Green sighed. “Miss Palpatine, we have no idea whether Ben Solo joined Snoke of his own accord or the reasons behind his shift. The cult that’s risen up around Snoke has reeled in some pretty powerful individuals, and I don’t doubt that with the right rhetoric and brainwashing they could influence almost anyone. It could have been the same case with Solo, especially at such a young age.” The agent, when she could tell Rey wasn’t swayed, steepled her fingers. “What we _do_ know — what our insider at First Order could gleam — is that in the present, he’s skittish as fuck — pardon my language. Terrified of his own shadow. Incoherent, barely speaking. They think he’s hooked on some strong shit, and weaning him off it has been...a chore. Wherever he’s been for the past two years, I guarantee it wasn’t pretty.”

Rey snorted. “Is that supposed to make me feel bad? Why don’t you just arrest him? Put him up in some cushy private prison while he detoxes if you’re so worried about his well being.” 

“Because we don’t have any solid evidence that Ben Solo has done anything wrong. We can’t hang someone on a hunch. Especially an asset who could be valuable in other ways.”

Rey barked a laugh. “Of course. You want his cooperation so you can bring down Snoke.”

“Correct.” 

“In exchange for a pardon for all his past crimes. If your theory is correct.” 

Agent Green nodded.

“And you want me to buy out his contract under the pretense that I’m lonely and, apparently, have a death wish. Just so you can pump him for information as soon as he’s recovered.” 

“More or less. You’re a rich, powerful woman with lots of money to spend on a lover...especially someone as coveted as _the_ Ben Solo, son of Senator Organa. No one would bat an eye at your choice.”

 _But I don’t_ want _a lover. Why is that such a hard concept for some women to comprehend?_ Rey had functioned just fine on her own in the years since her grandmother’s death, and adding a man into the mix would just be an unnecessary burden on her already overburdened schedule. “Speaking of...why haven’t you contacted Senator Organa? Surely she’d pay to have her son back safely, after all these years?”

The agent wore a sad smile. “We already did. She isn’t interested in our arrangement. Wanted full immunity for him _and_ Luke, who apparently has been in touch with her again recently.”

“So?”

“My bosses aren’t prepared to offer that. Luke may not be a murderer, but he’s been a thorn in the side of the government for almost twenty years. And unlike Solo, he’s never tried to hide behind another identity or repent for anything he’s done. He’s the perfect person to try publicly, if we ever catch him. Someone has to pay, and who better than the man at the head of the Rebel Alliance?”

Rey rewound the agent’s previous words in her head. “Wait...Ben Solo repented?”

“So our source says. One of the only words he’s saying seems to be ‘sorry’. Over and over again.”

Rey raised a brow. “And that means what, exactly? ‘Sorry’ shouldn’t cut it. Not for the magnitude of his crimes.” _Why am_ I _the rational voice in this discussion?_

Agent Green sighed again, louder this time. “It appears we’re talking in circles.”

“It appears we are.”

“Look, let me put it this way. You know horses.” She waited for Rey to nod. “If a racehorse crushes someone in the chute...or rolls on its rider… or a lesson horse spooks and sends a woman flying and she breaks her neck... are you going to take a shotgun and shoot the animal between the eyes? Without finding out if it can be rehabilitated? Without finding out what exactly happened and _why_?”

It was a poor analogy — the horses, as much as Rey could intuit their moods, rarely telegraphed their reasons for anything — but she understood what Green was trying to say. _Innocent until proven guilty, everyone deserves a second chance, and all that jazz._

Green suddenly stopped the recording on her phone. “Off the record...I have sympathy for the Rebel Alliance, and what they believe in. We took away their rights. We _do_ treat them like livestock. I honestly think it’s amazing more men don’t try to run once they realize what awaits them...a life of servitude that maybe, just maybe, turns into love...and that’s the lucky ones. The circumstances get better every year, thanks to people like Senator Organa and the AWA, who fight through legal channels to improve their status.” She sighed. “But passing legislation takes time, and the Rebel Alliance has never been good at anything other than shit stirring. Maybe Ben Solo saw how ineffective it was...so he decided to try a more extreme method. Got in over his head. It’s not an excuse for the horrible things he did as Kylo Ren, but... you’re involved in charity work, right? Maybe helping you, and helping us bring down Snoke, is a good way for him to begin to atone.” She restarted the recording. “What do you think?” 

When Rey didn’t answer, Green nodded and pushed back her chair. Stood, smoothed out her jacket. “I’ll give you a minute. It’s a lot, I know.”

The wheels in Rey’s head were turning, though, and she called out, just as Green reached the door: “If I were to agree to this…”

“Yeah?”

“How convincing do you want this relationship to be, exactly? Would I have to…” She trailed off, waggling her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“Ha. In private...that’s entirely up to you. You’ll own his contract, just like any other asset. We’re asking you to be a litmus test, really. How will he function in a situation where he’s cared for, shown affection? Doesn’t have to be _that_ kind of affection,” she added. “Just acceptance. Understanding. As far as socially, at first we’d want him to be kept sequestered as he recovers. Empire Farms being as big as it is, with the amount of security you employ — it shouldn’t be a problem. Then, eventually, we’d want you to start introducing him to your circle of friends and bringing him out in public, preferably to things that involve charitable causes. Put on a good show for the press while doing some good. We — the Bureau and a Bureau-appointed therapist — will be working with him the entire time, of course.”

“And if _we_ decide,” Rey said, leaving no question that she’d be involved in the choice, “that we don’t think he can be saved?”

Agent Green shrugged. “We’ll take him off your hands. Reimburse you — time and money. Make sure that he gets a more-or-less fair trial.”

Rey bit her lip, teetering on the brink of what could, very easily, turn out to be the worst decision of her life. “I’d like to meet him before I commit.” 

“That can be arranged. I’ll inform our First Order source. She works in acquisitions, so she can get your name on the list of interested parties and set up a viewing first thing tomorrow. Does that work for you? I’m afraid we have to jump soon, or we might lose him forever.”

She’d have to shift some things around, but it was doable. After Green excused herself for a moment to set up the meeting, Rey let the agent escort her back to the front of the building. As she was about to leave, Green blocked her path, held out her hand.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Palpatine.” Her voice was loud in the empty foyer: there were people probably listening to this exchange. “And when you see him, think about what I said about second chances.” 

“My pleasure,” Rey returned, giving the agent’s hand another firm shake. “But I’m pretty sure I’m about to find out why some people don’t deserve them.” When she tried to pull away, though, Green didn’t let go, dropping her voice to a whisper.

“For the sake of everyone involved, I hope you’re wrong.” Squeezed, then released. Ushered Rey through the revolving door. Even waved through the plate glass as Rey crossed the parking lot, wondering with growing trepidation what the hell she had just gotten herself into. 

**

The next morning, when she pushed her way into the lobby of First Order, Rey’s mind strayed to what Rose had told her in a text that weekend — that she was trying again, this time with an older man who had belonged to _Phasma Argyros_ of all people. 

Rey thought her friend was crazy on two counts: taking on a new man, period, and taking on _that_ man in particular. Her family and Phasma’s family had run in the same social circles while Sheba Palpatine was still alive, and Rey didn’t have fond memories of the other woman. As a teen Phasma had been a bully, sneering down her nose at the other girls, spreading rumors, and pulling pigtails when no one was looking. Not much had changed in the intervening years, it turned out. Although she threw around enough money to masquerade as a philanthropist, Phasma was still a snotty bitch and a bully, even if she had developed some subtlety somewhere along the way. Rey had seen Armitage Hux on her arm at various events, and he had seemed of similar ilk, with the expression of having smelt something foul permanently stuck on his face. So it had surprised her to hear that Phasma had suddenly discarded him. 

_He must have enough baggage to fill a train. What were you thinking, Rosie?_ And then: _You’re such a hypocrite._ No man on earth could possibly have more baggage than the one Rey was going to see now.

Instead of ascending to the seventh floor, where contracts were signed and men were transferred like property, Rey was told to take the elevator down to the basement levels.

There was zero pretense of luxury below the ground. Rey was surprised they’d even suggest she go down here, where it was dingy and dim. Surely they’d want to present one of their most precious commodities in the more flattering light of the upper levels?

“Hi there,” a caseworker greeted as soon as she stepped off the elevator. She was young, with unruly curly hair and a deep southern drawl. “My name is Carla. I’ll be showing you the asset.” As they walked, Carla leaned in conspiratorially. “I think we may have a mutual friend.” And winked.

 _The informant._ “Oh?” Rey said, playing coy, but she smiled. “Who would that be?”

They spent the next two minutes discussing a make-believe acquaintance from university as Carla led her down a series of hallways.

“You know, it’s weird,” the caseworker said, stopping at a steel door to flip out a key card at an electronic panel. “You’re the first one who’s actually asked to see him. It’s like the others don’t seem to care what state he’s in, just about his name.” Carla looked smug. Clearly Agent Green had discussed the contents of their conversation with her.

Rey shrugged. “I don’t make acquisitions without seeing the goods first. First rule of the horse business: don’t buy sight unseen.”

“Take ‘em for a test ride, too, don’t you usually?” Carla asked, and laughed when Rey’s face turned red.

When nothing happened after several swipes of her card, Carla pressed the intercom button. “Hey it’s me. My badge is acting up again, and I’ve got Ms. Palpatine out here.” A garbled sound came through the speaker, and the resulting beep and clunk of the lock opening made Rey uneasy.

“Don’t worry, these security precautions are purely to keep prying eyes out. Besides,” the caseworker added, “He’s on a powerful sedative. They’re trying to bring him through detox as easily as possible.”

They passed through the door into a control booth, where two other women were sitting, looking through a large window onto a room of some sort.

The first word that came to Rey’s mind to describe it was _cage_ , because the man she saw through the glass looked like a wild animal in an unnatural habitat. _Trapped._

Prowling from side to side, lips moving as he muttered to himself, Ben Solo was at least six feet tall — possibly more — with broad shoulders and a muscular physique that put most men Rey had ever seen to shame. His dark hair was shaggy and his eyes, when he glanced up to the window every so often, were amber like a tiger’s, and just as feral.

“He doesn’t look very sedate to me,” Rey whispered in awe as he continued to pace, covering the length of his enclosure in less than four strides before turning and beginning again. There was a heavy sheen of sweat on his face and his bare arms, and his shirt was torn along the torso. 

“We’ve had some difficulty with him this morning. Refused his breakfast and shoved the nurse so hard she fell and sprained her wrist. Darted him but he pulled it out too quickly. Now he’s just pissed.” The caretaker relayed all this is such a matter-of-fact tone that Rey had to raise her eyebrows. The existence of this facility, all ready for this dangerous man, worried her, too.

“Do you often have assets you have to keep in cages and drug into submission?” she asked, but the caretaker just popped a piece of gum in her mouth and shrugged.

“We’ll dose him again if you want to get in there and size him up.” 

As Rey watched him stalk from one wall to the other, she felt something stir deep in her gut that she hadn’t expected: sympathy. There was a cot with one ratty blanket in one corner, a toilet and a sink in the other, as barebones as the prison cell to which she herself suggested he be condemned.

 _How will he function in a situation where he’s cared for, shown affection?_ Agent Green’s words came back to her in rush, and Rey realized, irrationally, that she wanted to find out.

“No.”

“No what?”

“Don’t dose him. I want to see if I can talk to him.”

“Whoa,” Carla interjected, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The higher ups would hand me my ass if you got hurt.”

“Do you plan for me to keep him sedated for the rest of his life?” Rey snapped. 

“I mean,” the other caseworker snickered, “It’s an option? They’ve got some crazy over-the-counter shit now, makes them _real_ pliable.” Carla silenced her with a glare. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“I’m going in there.”

“I should really get you to sign a waiver first…” Carla mumbled, reaching for the telephone on the wall. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, to the oblivion of the other two women in the booth.

But Rey ignored the warning and planted herself in front of the entrance to the enclosure. Crossed her arms. Waited.

Carla relented with a huff, let the handset drop back on the hook. “Let her in.”

“He won’t hurt me.” Rey spoke the reassurance aloud more for her own ears than theirs. 

Behind the fierce feral gaze, she knew the man lingered. _He won’t hurt me._

Still, when she stepped into the enclosure, a shiver ran up her spine. He had halted as soon as the door snicked open, and his wild eyes were trained on her, his head held low, every muscle in his body tensed.

“Ben?” she asked, in what she prayed was a placating tone. “Ben Solo?” She took another step, reached out her hand. “My name is Rey.” Another step. “I wanted to talk to you, if that’s okay.” She extended her arm further, hand palm down. Half expected him to drop his face and sniff it like a dog.

Instead he mimicked her, lifting his hand towards hers. Slowly breached the distance between them to touch her fingertips. His were callused, as if he spent days doing manual labor.

“Hi Ben,” Rey breathed, relaxing. His digits explored across her palm. “Are you—”

She realized her mistake a split second before his hand snapped around her wrist, but it was too late. “Fuck,” she managed to sputter out as he yanked her across the space, spinning her around as she went, so that her back collided with his chest. 

_Stay calm, stay calm_ , she chanted in her head, even as the man’s massive hand closed around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her breath rasp.

An alarm blared to life, and she felt his body shudder against hers at the sound.

“It’s okay,” she soothed, wrapping her own fingers around his forearm where it crossed her body, but not attempting to pull it away. 

“He won’t hurt me,” she called to the three women staring wide-eyed, protected, behind the glass. His other hand roamed her body: breasts, waist, buttocks. “Will you, Ben?” she asked. She could feel his cock hardening against her backside as he continued to grope, his hand slipping over the silk of her blouse and down, down, the plane of her stomach, fingers preparing to dive below the waistband of her skirt. She berated herself internally for wearing the suit: it would be too easy for him to push up the flimsy fabric and take her there, in the cell, in front of Carla and the caretakers. Would they try to intervene, as he found his way inside her? Or would they let their morbid curiosity get the better of them, and let the scene play out? 

Rey had a hunch it would be the latter, and she sure as fuck didn’t want to wait to find out. She dug her fingernails into his arm as hard as she dared, hoping it would encourage him to stop, but he didn’t even seem to register the pressure. 

“You won’t hurt me, will you?” she repeated, gently, as he pressed his nose to her temple and inhaled deep, scenting her. All she received in response was a grunt, his fingers around her throat clenching ever-so-slightly. The hand below her waist found its way to her groin. 

_Think, you idiot!_ Bit her lip, even as desire stirred in the pit of her belly. That she was aroused by this contact disturbed her on several levels, but she couldn’t deny it. No one had touched her like this in years — gentle pets, working up to something more. 

Her eyes found the women in the booth again. Carla had the phone to her ear. The other two were just sitting there, jaws hanging open, an unwelcome audience. 

_That’s it._ “I like what you’re doing to me, darling,” she whispered, struggling to keep her voice even, her breathing controlled, in spite of his thumb slipping lower still, between her folds. Even in his current state, it was clear he knew how to touch a woman, rubbing at the apex of her labia, seeking the pearl hidden there. “I like it,” Rey repeated, swallowing against the grip on her throat. “But I’m not terribly keen on voyeurs. Are you, sweetheart?”

He froze like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. She could feel him turn his head to look out the window, to where the other women waited, their expressions a mixture of fascination and horror. And then it was like she had poked him with a cattle prod: he ripped his body away from hers, stumbling and mumbling as he went. The backs of his knees hit the cot, and he and it both collapsed into a heap of man and metal.

Rey crouched next to him as he lay there, panting. He had cut his hand on the sharp edge of the cot, and blood flowed freely down his forearm.

“He’s injured,” she shouted, ripping off her scarf to wrap around the wound. His eyes followed every movement, and he flinched when she touched him. “Hello? We need help in here!” She turned her head to see the caseworkers had finally sprung into action, donning gloves. When the door slid open to reveal their forms, he began to tremble against her hand.

“Shhh, darling. It’s alright,” she reassured, fingers twining in the long strands of his black hair. When it was properly washed, it would be a luxurious mane that reached down past the nape of his neck. “What horrible things have been done to you?” 

Ben looked up at her with those wild eyes, his plush mouth working as if he finally wanted to speak...just as a tranquilizer dart embedded itself in his bicep. He looked down in disbelief, his brow furrowed. 

“Sorry ma’am,” one of the caseworkers said, her voice muffled behind the plastic shield of her headgear. “We can’t take any chances.”

Rey ignored the other women. “It’s alright, pet,” Rey said to the man. His eyelids drooped. His hand curled against her thigh, seeking purchase, but the drug worked quickly. “I’m going to get you out of here.” 

“You can’t be serious, ma’am. He nearly—” The caseworker’s voice ground to a halt when she saw Rey’s expression. It wasn’t one she needed to employ often, but she was tired of them second guessing her intentions.

The caseworkers parted and Carla appeared, along with a woman who had the air of a lawyer.

“Ms. Palpatine, I’m afraid—”

“What’s the highest bid?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What’s the highest bid on his contract?”

The lawyer flipped through the papers stacked on her clipboard. “Five hundred thousand.”

“I’ll triple it. But I want this done today. He comes with me _now_.”

Carla raised her eyebrows, then nodded. “Very good Ms. Palpatine. If we can discuss payment—”

“Yes, yes. Just prep him for transport and get the paperwork sorted,” Rey grumbled. “I don’t want to spend a minute longer in this wretched place than I have to.”

After giving the lawyer her personal assistant’s contact info and firing off a text to warn her, Rey hovered as four women, each burlier than the last, wrestled Ben’s bulk onto a gurney and strapped him in, only disengaging to answer her insistently buzzing phone when they were on their way to the infirmary for stitches.

“Talk, Kaydel,” she said.

“Umm, hi Rey. So got your text, and a rep from First Order called—”

“And?”

“Your offer has been countered. Two million.”

 _Fucking vultures._ Rey sighed. “Up mine to five, immediately. Hopefully that’ll stop the other bidder in their tracks. Put my plans on hold for the rest of the day. Then call my housekeeper. Tell her to prep the room adjacent to mine. We’ll be there in a few hours and I expect it to be ready for him.”

“You got it, boss.”

“And Kaydel?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Don’t breathe a word about the contract price to anyone, please — not the staff, not security, not the farm workers. I don’t want it getting out any faster than it needs to...and I sure as hell don’t want people banging down my door to get a look at him.” _The five-million dollar man._

“Of course, Rey. I—” But Rey ended the call.

She strode down the hall to the viewing window of the infirmary. They were efficient here, she’d give them that: they were almost finished with the stitches. Her seven-thousand-dollar Hermès scarf — her favorite, the one with the horses — lay discarded on the floor, stained with his precious blood. _What was seven-thousand dollars now?_ She grinned to herself at the thought, giddy on the rush of her decision. _What’s five million?_ Money didn’t matter — she had plenty of it, after all. What mattered to Rey now was the man lying on the gurney, his magnificent, brutish body subdued. _For now._ Ben Solo was alive. He was beautiful. And most importantly, he was _hers_. 

  
  


**

Rey’s chauffeur parked in the half circle drive, a good hundred yards back from the armored car carrying her purchase. The mode of transport was conspicuous as fuck, but it couldn’t be helped. She figured it would be less likely to attract attention than an ambulance, but she had her security team out in full force in any case, patrolling the border and monitoring the surveillance equipment. Her nearest neighbor was almost three miles away, but paparazzi drones buzzed over her airspace on a regular basis. She took particular glee in shooting them down, although a lot of the time Jess took them out before she had the chance.

Signing her name to the contract had been easier than breathing. Everyone was all smiles as they walked her out, even Carla, who Rey assumed would inform Green that their play had been successful. Rey almost felt bad for the other bidder, whoever she was. No one could compete with the Palpatine fortune.

Ben was still under the influence of the sedative as they wheeled him through the front doors and to the elevator, but by the time they had transferred him to the California King in the room that now belonged to him, he was beginning to stir. 

“Leave,” she ordered Kaydel and the others, her nerves threatening to rattle. “Make sure the estate is locked down.” She watched her household staff disperse and wondered how much she could really trust any of these women. Only when Rey had shut and locked the bedroom door behind them did she begin to feel more at ease. 

Except of course there was _him_ , lying there supine, his arms crossed on his wide chest, muscles banded like iron beneath the alabaster skin. Would there be a repeat of his feral behavior at the facility when he fully woke? Would she let him fuck her, if it came down to that?

Rey hadn’t been dishonest: his touch _had_ felt good. The prospect of being bent over the bed, of being entered from behind, excited her. Embarrassed her. She could feel a pulse deep in her groin now, just thinking about it, and a slickness between her legs.

The response she anticipated was far from the one she received, however. As Ben’s eyelids fluttered, as he groaned and pulled himself to a sitting position, there was no lust in his gaze—only fear. He swallowed hard, his hands skittering over the white duvet, unsure of where to rest. His eyes were no better, jumping around the room and only lighting on her face for a fraction of a second. At one point, he lifted his chin towards her as if to ask, “Where?” Or perhaps, “Why?”

She resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. “You’re at my estate. You belong to me now, pet.” He seemed to consider this, so she went on. “Are you hungry? I can have my staff bring you whatever you like...but maybe we should get you cleaned up first? Hmmm?” 

Rey felt like an idiot, speaking to this grown man like he was a simpleton or a small child, but she was unsure how much he was comprehending through the haze of the rapidly dissipating sedative. She motioned to the bottle of water on his bedside table, and he immediately swiped it, chugging down the entire contents in a few greedy gulps. Suddenly an expression of unease came over his face, and he lunged forward, towards the open door that led to the en suite. She surged after him as he stumbled into the toilet cubicle. Retching again and again, he clung to the toilet bowl like it was a life ring, and all she could offer were meaningless sounds of comfort. When she dared reach out and rub her palm on his broad back, he flinched. 

“Gods, _what_ did they _do_ to you?” she murmured. His stomach finally emptied, he turned away from the toilet. Cradled his head in his hands, his face hidden by his dark hair. Started sobbing. She tried to put an arm around him, but to her chagrin he ducked away, scooting across the cold tile out of her reach.

Rey waited until he quieted, then stood. She flushed the toilet and turned on the shower. 

“I think a hot shower will help you feel better,” she said, but he didn’t budge. “Come now, darling.” She stuck her hand in, tested the temperature. She was grimy herself, from the facility and from his dirty hands. And the shower had a head on each end, perfect for sharing. But did she dare?

 _Maybe if I undress he’ll see me as less of a threat._ The heat in her groin had dulled to a distant throb, but the thoughts hadn’t left her completely. 

_This poor creature has just had his entire world upended, and you’re fantasizing about sex,_ she scolded herself. Still, she began to unbutton her blouse, only faltering when she looked up to see him regarding her in wide-eyed terror. It was rapidly becoming obvious that their interaction in the facility had been a fluke. 

_Wherever he’s been for the past two years, I guarantee it wasn’t pretty._ Some shady organization had gotten ahold of him, perhaps; used him as a lab rat, testing libido enhancing concoctions that buried rational thought beneath a thick layer of primal lust. She knew they existed, knew there was a market for such things among the elite. The caretaker watching over him had practically spelled it out.

She wondered whether First Order had a pharmaceutical division. Something to bring up later to Green.

For now, she focused her attention on Ben. 

“It’s alright,” she said. “I won’t—I won’t do anything. But I want you to come into the shower with me, okay? I’d take the chivalrous route and get in fully clothed, but this is silk.” She shucked her jacket, then her skirt. When she let her shirt and bra drop to the floor, she thought she heard a strangled sound from his corner, but didn’t lift her eyes until she had stepped out of her panties. Rey gave him a solid minute to look her body over. He did so guiltily, biting his lip, before he tore his gaze away. 

“You’ll have to keep that dry, so you might need my help.” She gestured to his hand, and he looked down to where the medic had sewn his wound together in tight, precise stitches. 

“Come on, sweetheart. You’ll feel better.” She extended a hand to him, but he elected to pull himself up by the edge of the counter instead. As he rose to his full height, she realized just how much his frame dwarfed hers. Half a foot taller, probably seventy or eighty pounds heavier.

 _Shit,_ she thought, wondering for the umpteeth time what she had gotten herself into. In her haste to claim him, in the blind surge of empathy and desire after he had touched her, she had forgotten the way his fingers had completely encircled her slender neck. Would she be the first woman stupid enough to die because she had chosen a man who was more than a match for her? Somehow she doubted it.

 _Not to mention he’s a murderer,_ her conscience hissed. She couldn’t let herself forget that, even when he stood before her, shaking.

But when she commanded him again, Ben came to her, shoulders hunched and head bowed, and let her remove his clothing piece by piece. She tried not to let her fingers linger against his skin longer than necessary, nor her eyes dally too long on his nakedness when he was finally bare. 

There were scars on his hide, too many to count.

Rey led him into the shower, and saw a change come over him. 

“That’s it,” she murmured, standing under one shower head while he let the water rush over him under the other, neck bent under the spray. “Isn’t that better?” He held his injured hand out to the side, away from the water.

“I’m just going to...” She pumped some shampoo into her hands, held it out, “If that’s okay?”

Slowly, he nodded, bent his head further so she could reach. His other arm came around her in a loose embrace, but that was as much as he touched her. 

She handed him the loofah next, loaded with body wash, and blushed when he looked at her expectantly. So she helped with that too, and was decidedly less thorough than she should have been...until she got to his genitals, when he gently took back the loofah and she breathed a sigh of relief.

She quickly scrubbed her own hair and body, and by the time she was done he had stepped out and was dripping on the bath mat, waiting for further assistance. 

So Rey helped him wrap a towel around his hips, then led him back to the bedroom. She had sent Kaydel on an emergency shopping trip while signing the paperwork — had to guess his size — and the tee he tried to struggle into was comically small. At least the pajama pants fit, and the sweatshirt: they’d work until she could get him something better.

“Are you hungry?” she asked again when he was dressed.

He shook his head, looked at the bed, his eyes closing briefly before snapping back open. Sleepy still, and she was sure the shower hadn’t helped.

“Lie down,” she urged. It was only just after noon — maybe she could get some work done after all, as he snoozed the day away. “I can stay...or I can leave you alone for now... All you need to do is hit the intercom button here —” She crossed to the other side of the room, where the panel stood out bright white against the soft grey of the wall. “Just hit this and someone will come find me and we’ll see how you’re feeling. Is that okay? Ben?”

But he was already sprawled on the bed, facing away. Whether he was asleep or not, Rey knew she had been dismissed.

**

The afternoon was productive, spent going over the estate with the property manager and identifying any areas that needed improvement, with no interruptions from the intercom. Rey held a staff briefing that night before dinner, filling them in as best she could without divulging too much about the deal with the FBI and her new asset’s true identity. She was thankful Kaydel had apparently kept her word...some of the farm workers in particular seemed stunned at her sudden change of heart and desire for a companion. But she was the one who paid their salaries, so they kept their opinions to themselves.

When she went to check on Ben at six o’clock, he was well and truly asleep, snoring softly, tangled in the covers. He’d already shucked the sweatshirt; she’d have to make sure the temperature in his room was cooler than the way she liked hers. 

She retreated downstairs to her office, ate dinner alone while distractedly watching footage of her most promising two-year-old breeze around the track. By the time she had looked over the stud appointments her stallion booking secretary had lined up for the next two weeks, as well as the daily report from the broodmare manager, it was nearing ten. 

When she padded into his room he was still asleep, although she was less sure it was genuine this time. The bathroom connected their rooms, and she almost caught herself locking the door that led to hers.

 _Don’t be silly. He won’t hurt you._ Shook herself, and left it open.

Rey slipped into her own bed at ten twenty, and had just drifted off when she jolted awake again. 

_He_ was watching from the doorway.

Sitting up, she blinked. For a split second panic surged through her. “Is everything okay?” 

He hovered at the threshold, hesitating.

 _Is this it?_ Rey wondered. Was this the moment when he showed his true colors, when Kylo Ren came back to the surface from wherever he had been buried and strangled her in her own bed?

The clouds that had covered the moon drifted away, letting the light hit his face. His eyes and cheeks were red: he had been crying again.

“Do you—do you want to sleep in here?” She pulled back the covers on the other side of the bed, yawning as she did. “Bed’s big enough for both of us.” She rolled on her side, facing away from the door, wondering if he would take the invitation. 

When he finally moved, she expected him to go around and climb onto the other side, so she opened her eyes in shock as he gently used his massive body to push her over so that he was spooning her, barely on the mattress. When she tried to move away, to give him more space, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back. She felt him curl his head forward, his chin touching her shoulder, felt his knees slot against the backs of hers. His body was like a puzzle piece she didn’t know she was missing, finally clicking into place.

And then, so quiet she almost didn’t catch it: “Sorry.” His voice cracked from disuse. “I— I’m sorry...about before.”

He heaved a great sigh as he settled in, and Rey’s heart leapt in her chest as she covered his hand with her own.

“You’re safe here,” Rey whispered, stroking her thumb along his knuckles. “You’re safe with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos & comments always appreciated.
> 
> A note about the horses... I love horses, but tragically am allergic in real life, so I admire from afar (and apparently write characters into horsey situations). I know enough to be dangerous, but am certainly no expert, so if you find something glaringly wrong with anything horse-related at any point, speak up. They won't be a huge part of the story, but will definitely feature.
> 
> Also everything in this chapter involving the FBI is part "I make up whatever I want" and part "I repurpose things gleaned from TV shows and movies that are probably garbage". So I apologize for that, too. (And I honestly care more about getting the horses right than I do the FBI stuff, LOL).
> 
> Also if you want to chat about or ask questions about this fic (or the sequel trilogy in general) but don't want to comment, feel free to hit me up on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/eyanril)
> 
> Next update should be week of 9/28 at some point, and will be another Rose POV chapter.


	3. Rose - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Here's a whole lot of Rose and Hux, and a little (somewhat awkward) smut for your Saturday night!

On the evening Armitage Hux was due to arrive, Rose couldn’t relax. She had been on tenterhooks all day, and now the scheduled hour of his appearance had come and gone.

“What time is it?” Rose asked again, and Jannah rolled her eyes.

“Only—” She checked her phone. “—two minutes later than the last time you asked me.”

“Aren’t you anxious? Like, at all?” Rose shifted from foot to foot, her eyes on the front bay window. Every car that drove past that didn’t slow to a stop frazzled her more.

“Sure. I just hide it better than you.” She gave Rose a playful jostle.

But Rose couldn’t remain still, so she drifted back to the kitchen and rearranged the chocolate chip cookies she had baked — again — on the platter.

 _I don’t even know if he likes cookies,_ she thought. Pouring over his file after signing the contract, Rose had found very little to indicate any of Hux’s personal preferences. As a result, she’d spent much longer than necessary in IKEA on her next day off, fretting over thread counts of both towels and sheets, and waffling on whether she should buy a bookcase to put in the corner of the room that would be his (he looked like a reader...maybe). The eclectic aesthetic that defined the rest of her house suited Rose fine, although Jannah called it what it was: cluttered. But maybe he was a minimalist and didn’t want too much furniture. Maybe he had a truck load of possessions they’d have to cram into the too-small space. _We’d find out if he would ever_ get _here._

“You’ve touched all those cookies at least three times now,” Jannah chided at her shoulder. “Let’s hope he’s not a germaphobe.”

“I know, I know. I’m just—” She grabbed a tea towel and twisted it in her grasp. “You know me: I’m a fidgeter. The AWA rep said they’d be here at 8 PM. It’s—”

“Barely 8:15. Probably stuck in traffic.”

“What traffic? It’s Saturday night, everyone is headed into the city, not out of it.”

“Rose.” Jannah’s tone bordered on annoyed. “Relax.”

Rose sank with a huff onto a stool at the island, slapping the towel on the counter.

“I just...I remember what it was like when Finn...arrived.” _Came home_ , she almost said, but it had never _really_ been his home in the way it was hers. She had grown up here, with her mom and Paige, and she was acquainted with every inch of the house, every quirk. She had never known anything else. “It took us all a while to adjust. I want to try to make it as easy as possible for Armitage…” She sighed. “God, that sounds so formal! What do you think he’ll want to be called? Armie?” Rose wrinkled her nose. “That sounds too childish.” 

“I’m sure he’ll let you know pretty quickly if you use a nickname he doesn’t like. And stop worrying about how easily he’ll adjust. If we’re lucky, he won’t have time to. He’ll be out of here again in less than ninety days. Right?” 

“Right,” Rose agreed, but she couldn’t muster the resolve she had felt in the moments before and after signing the contract, that she could use and discard another person so nonchalantly. And although Rose knew Jannah was a kind, caring individual, she apparently did not plan to extend that compassion to Hux. 

_Guess I can’t blame her,_ Rose thought. _She really wanted the other one...maybe it would have been better..._

Jannah was leaning on the counter now, nibbling on a cookie, and Rose swatted her arm. “Hey! Those—” 

“He is not going to miss one damn cookie, Rose.”

“You’re right. You’re right.” Rose pulled the platter over, grabbed one for herself.

She was on her second, eyes still trained on the rainy street outside the front window, when Jannah’s phone buzzed.

“Shit. Work, of course. This merger has been a real bitch. Just holler if they show up.” She disappeared out the back door onto the deck. Rose could hear her speaking English, then switch to French.

For a moment Rose lost herself in listening to the drizzle and the murmur of Jannah’s conversation, half a cookie still in her hand. 

She’d spent every spare minute that week cleaning, which was no easy feat in a four bedroom, three-and-a-half-bath house. Jannah had helped of course, in between lengthy consultation calls and trips into the Resistance office in the city, but it was still more than two fully employed people could do in a week. So Rose had taken care of the interior, and then hired someone to come out and pressure wash the siding and get the windows from outside — the ones she hadn’t replaced with tip-ins, anyway. Paid a landscaper to trim the hedges, to weed the flower beds and tidy up the backyard, which they had neglected through the wet winter.

And there was his room, of course — the one that had been Finn’s for over two years.

She hadn’t set foot inside for almost as long, which meant a thick layer of dust everywhere. Rose had scoured it from top to bottom, dreading the entire time that she’d find something Finn had left behind, but there had been nothing. 

He had excised himself from her life completely, and she felt the wound in her heart tear open a little upon realizing that as soon as she had finished cleaning, every trace of him would be gone.

With the new bedding and matching pair of lamps, and the shelves that she had finally caved and bought, the room looked different enough. She wouldn’t be spending much time there in any case — she and Jannah had already decided Hux would go to their rooms for the scheduled sessions. Give him his own personal space where he didn’t have to worry about them intruding.

She just hoped what she had done was enough. Yet again she thought of the spread from _Vogue_ , and how glamorous all the shots of Phasma’s penthouse at the city center had been — all stark grey and white walls and sleek furniture. Clean and impersonal. He was going from _that_ to a hundred-year-old Victorian in the suburbs, stuffed with things and memories and two women, one who had already made up her mind without having ever met him, the other a broken thing on the verge of falling apart at any moment.

 _Welcome home_ , she thought wryly. 

The doorbell chime rang out through the house, and Rose almost fell off her stool. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Jannah! They’re here!” She could see Jannah give a thumbs up through the kitchen window, but she didn’t come in.

Rose rushed to the front door, then had to stop and take a deep breath. Blowing the air out of her cheeks slowly, she plastered a smile on her face and opened it.

A caseworker — not Mary, but similar in a cheerful matronly way — stood on the stoop, her finger about to press the bell a second time. And slightly behind her hovered Armitage Hux, ramrod straight under an umbrella, a case of some sort hanging at his side.

“Come in, come in,” Rose entreated, gesturing towards the living room. “Wow, it’s raining harder than I thought.”

“Sorry for the delay,” the caseworker was saying as she stepped inside. “We had to do some last minute rearranging…” But Rose tuned her out, watching Hux as he passed her.

He was tall _._ Somehow six-foot-one hadn’t seemed all that impressive on paper, but the top of her head barely went past his shoulder.

He was dressed in a suit, expensive in cut and material by the perfect way it hung off his lean body, nary a wrinkle in sight.

And, in person, his hair was redder than she expected. Maybe it was the harsh light of the overhead bulb in the foyer, but it practically _burned._

In contrast, the expression on his refined face was downright glacial. 

Armitage Hux, it seemed, was _not_ impressed with his new abode.

She didn’t have time to react, however, before a tiny _mew_ issued from the case at his side.

_Not a case...a pet carrier._

Rose was so caught off guard that she forgot her rehearsed greeting. Instead, all she could manage was: “No one said anything about a cat.”

For a moment Hux and the caseworker only blinked at her: the caseworker matching her forced smile, and then Hux narrowed his eyes.

“I was _assured_ they informed you.” The stiff British cadence of his voice made Rose think of period pieces she and Paige had enjoyed watching: the heroes overly formal and chivalrous, but with hearts of gold. 

_Oh, I’m going to like this,_ she thought, until he opened his mouth again and ruined the illusion. 

As Rose was bending to peer into the cat carrier, she heard him comment to the caseworker, with a dissatisfied sniff: “Is this some kind of joke? This can’t possibly be the right place, is it?”

“I beg your pardon?” Rose’s voice was louder than she intended as she straightened, perceiving some unspoken insult. Maybe she was mistaken, she thought, when he hesitated to respond. 

But then the man looked past her and gave a harsh bark of a laugh. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.” 

Rose turned to find Jannah standing in the doorway, her brow furrowed. 

“Two of them?” Hux mocked, rounding on the caseworker. “I _specifically_ petitioned not to be placed in a dyad household. Or in the _suburbs_. Apparently my requests fell on deaf ears.”

The caseworker sighed, looking from Rose to Jannah and back. “I’m sorry. _Someone_ is a bit cranky today,” she said in a singsong voice. She winked at Rose, and Rose felt her stomach sink.

Hux ignored the gibe. “You haven’t got any more women back there, have you?” he asked, peering beyond Jannah. “Have I been sent to live in a fecking clown car? It’s cramped enough.”

“Now, now, Armitage.” The caseworker tutted, crossing her arms. “I really don’t think—” 

But Jannah strode forward, pointing her finger at him. “Listen here, you ginger fuck,” she growled, “That’s quite enough. This is our home and you are our _guest_.” The last word came out in a hiss.

“Guest,” he scoffed. “Sure. Whatever you want to call it, I suppose.” The curled-lip sneer from the tabloid pictures took over his face, and all Rose could think was _Oh no..._

“Armitage,” the caseworker warned, attempting to take him by the elbow. 

He wrenched it away, sneered at her. “Your presence is no longer required here, madam. Run along and get your pat on the back for being a good First Order minion.”

And then everyone was talking at once.

Jannah started in: “Maybe you used to just be able to order people around where you came from, but—”

“Really,” the caseworker chided, “Is that any way to talk about First Order after all we’ve done—”

“You’re damn right,” Hux snarled, voice rising. “I came from a place of refinement. You wouldn’t know true class if it bit you on the—”

Rose watched them argue, feeling helpless as Hux and Jannah got in each other’s faces, the caseworker with a hand on each of their shoulders, trying to keep them apart. _This is all going wrong! Fix it!_ She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. 

And then the self doubt kicked in. _You can’t fix this. This was a horrible idea, and deep down you knew it! You’re not ready and Jannah’s not ready and Armitage Hux is obviously a total dick. You were stupid for choosing him. You’re so stupid and weak—_

No one was watching Rose where she had backed herself against the wall, and before she could beat down the despair inside her, it came surging out. 

The others kept going as she cried, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She sank to her haunches, covering her face in embarrassment, blocking all three of them out. It was Hux who finally seemed to notice.

“What’s—what’s wrong with her?” His tone had lost some of its haughty disdain.

“Rosie? Look what you’ve done, asshole!” Jannah accused.

“Me!” Hux sounded horrified. “I didn’t—”

Jannah had taken Rose’s hand, was trying to pull her up, but Rose resisted, remaining on the floor. They stayed that way until Rose had managed to gather some control over her tears. “I’m fine,” she croaked between hiccups. She wasn’t. “I’m just overtired.” She was exhausted, and watching them immediately launch into a mud-slinging verbal brawl had been the last straw. She swiped at her eyes.

Eventually, the caseworker cleared her throat, attempted to move things along. “Miss Calrissian, Miss Tico, there’s just some final transfer paperwork we need to get signed. Is there somewhere we can do that?”

“Based on our very short interaction here, I do not think that’s a good idea,” Jannah muttered, but she looked down at Rose.

 _Are you sure you still want to do this?_ Rose could tell her friend was waiting for some sort of confirmation or denial. That she’d be happier with a denial, of course, hopeful that Rose would just throw in the towel now and send him back, money be damned. 

But Armitage was looking down at her too, his brow furrowed, his mouth set in a frown. He didn’t seem so cold any more after watching her crumble.

_You’re so close. You can’t give up now._

“Jannah, can you? Please? I just need a minute.”

Jannah’s irritation showed on her face plainly. She huffed and beckoned to the caseworker. “Come on then, my office is right here.” 

And then Rose and Hux were alone.

Well, except for the cat, who meowed again: this vocalization louder, more insistent. 

“Can I let her out?” he asked. “I think she can tell you’re upset.”

Rose nodded, sniffling.

A fluffy feline thumped down to the ground as soon as he unlatched the door. It was a big cat, a fifteen-pounder, with luxuriously long ginger fur, split by a white marking that covered its belly, chest and made a half-ring around its neck. Rose looked from the animal to Hux and laughed. “You’ve got the same color hair.”

He smiled then, _actually smiled_ at her, and Rose thought, _Maybe there’s hope for him after all._

When she stretched out her hand, the cat made a beeline for her, rubbing its face on her knuckles. “It’s a girl?”

“Yes. Her name is Millicent.”

“Millicent,” Rose repeated, as the cat lifted her face to get a chin scratch. “Aren’t you a proper lady with a fancy name.” She ran her hand along Millicent’s back. “So soft! And she’s so big! What breed is she?” Somehow she knew that this particular feline was probably not just a run-of-the-mill domestic longhair.

“She’s a Siberian Forest Cat. They’re fairly rare in the States.” He crouched next to her and Millicent immediately moved between them, wanting attention from all sides. “Are...are you normally allergic? Because she’s been tested, and she has less of the protein in her saliva that people are sensitive to. Less than most cats, in any case.”

“Really? That’s pretty neat. I’m not allergic, but I’m not sure about Jannah.”

For a moment they were silent, letting the cat weave back and forth in the space between them, taking turns petting her. At one point they both reached at the same time, and their fingers collided in midair.

“Sorry,” he blurted. And then, quieter: “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

Rose shook her head. “It wasn’t you. Well...it wasn’t _just_ you. I’m just...exhausted. And nervous, and…” She shrugged. “But this can’t be a walk in the park for you, either.”

His face twisted into a grimace, but the anger contained therein wasn’t directed at her.

“It’s...yes. It’s been difficult in some ways. Surprisingly easy in others. This is... _different_. But different doesn’t mean bad,” he added. “I was just...surprised. When Tracy told me we were on our way out to the suburbs I should have put two and two together. There’s no way you could have afforded me on your own.”

It rankled Rose that he would just assume she didn’t have the means — even if it was true — but he continued.

“You are the one, right?” he asked. “My mistress? I know you both signed the contract, but…” His voice dropped to a murmur, docile. “You don’t have to be nervous. I know what I’m doing.” He was loosening up, letting his guard down. “You seem reasonable, and Millicent clearly likes you. I think we’ll get along fine. Your partner on the other hand…” He looked towards the closed office door, behind which Rose imagined Jannah and the caseworker were discussing the more unsavory elements of the man crouched beside her in great detail. “...She's keen to be rid of me already, isn’t she? I know I overreacted, but... Seems a bit of a cunt, to agree to this and then—” 

He used the vulgarity casually, in a conspiratorial childish way, like it was their secret. And he was still talking, but there was a rush of white noise in her ears, and she couldn’t hear the words.

Rose slapped him across the face.

The smack of flesh on flesh echoed through the living room. Rose expected Millicent to take off at the unexpected sound, but she just looked from Rose to her owner and mewled softly, only disappointed they had stopped petting her.

Hux, on the other hand, gaped at her in stunned silence, hand on his rapidly reddening cheek. 

“Don’t you _ever_ talk about her that way again.” Rose could feel herself shaking. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Jannah, and if I weren’t here, you’d still be rotting away at First Order. I _guarantee_ there are worse homes out there than ours, even if it is _beneath_ you.” Rose yanked herself to her feet, and she felt strangely powerful as she glared down at him. “Don’t forget that.”

“I’m sorry.” He bit his lip, a gesture that made him look younger than his thirty-five years and vulnerable, and Rose had to fight back a rush of sympathy. _He just called your best friend a cunt._ He looked away. “I won’t forget, mistress.”

“And for fuck’s sake, don’t call me that.” It made her feel dirty, even if it was the reality of their situation. “Do you have any more stuff outside?”

He stood, and Millicent wound around his legs. “A couple suitcases and boxes, and items for the cat. Litter box, and so on.”

“Then let’s go get it.” She didn’t wait for him to follow.

Rose pulled the first carton out of the back of the transport van and almost dropped it. 

“Sorry,” he rushed to take it from her. “Books.” She had guessed right about that much. “Are you sure...?” He was subdued now, anxious even. He knew he had fucked up, and now he expected her to change her mind.

“Yes. You’re staying.” _For now._

The door to the office was still closed when they made their last trip in, down the hall.

“I know—” Rose began, looking around the bedroom, which seemed even more inadequate now. Bit off the apology that _it isn’t much._

“It’s fine, Rose,” he said. It was the first time he had spoken her name, and the meek way he used it gave her another unexpected rush of satisfaction. 

They stood awkwardly for a minute, her eyes on the floor, his on the wall, before she kicked herself into action. “Let me give you a quick tour.” 

They passed into the hallway and she pointed to the left. “Back there’s the laundry and a half bath. You can put Millicent’s litter box in there if you want.” She stepped into the kitchen and he trailed her obediently. “Kitchen, obviously. Back door — there’s a deck out there.” She flicked on the outside light so he could see. “About a quarter acre of lawn, which makes it a breeze to mow.” She turned and gestured toward the open space that flowed from the kitchen into a dining area and into the living room. Millicent had already stretched out on the window seat, and lifted her head as they came towards her. “Dining room...living room...” She went back into the hall, pointed to Jannah’s office. “Jannah works from home when she’s not jetting around for Resistance, so that’s where she’ll be a lot of the time.” He opened his mouth to ask a question, but she was already jogging up the stairs, stopping on the landing and waiting for him to catch up. She ignored the first door on their right, instead pointed to the next. “That’s Jannah’s. Then the shared bathroom for the floor. On your left is my bedroom — typical master, with a bath and a walk-in.” Once upon a time it had been her mom’s, and then Paige’s. _You’ll see it soon enough,_ she thought. “And that’s pretty much it.”

But Hux had zeroed in on the door she had skipped. “And in there?”

Rose had never possessed much of a poker face — she wore her happiness, and her hurt, on her sleeve. “Nothing. Junk room. Storage.”

She could tell he didn’t believe her, but neither did he press the issue.

Just as they were going down the stairs, the two women stepped out of Jannah’s office. The caseworker smiled and clapped her hands together.

“All settled in, Armitage? Now, I just need to verify the phone requirement and I’ll be on my way.” 

“Right.” Rose had reactivated an older model of Jannah’s with a new SIM card. They all watched as the caseworker made a test call and confirmed the contacts.

“Perfect! That’s it then.” She reached out her hand to Jannah, who took and shook it with determination. Then she turned to Rose, who extended her own hand reluctantly.

“Congratulations to both of you.” Like he wasn’t even standing there behind them. “First Order will be in touch to follow up in...hmmm...three weeks or so. To see how everything is proceeding.” 

“Thank you,” Jannah said, with a sidelong glance at Hux. “We’ll look forward to their call.”

As soon as the caseworker had disappeared down the walk, Jannah whipped around and directed her angry glare at him. Opened her mouth to resume where they had left off. 

“Don’t,” Rose pleaded. “Please, _don’t._ It’s late and it’s been a long day. For all of us. Let’s just get some sleep…and we can go over the rules and all that in the morning.”

“Fine.” Jannah pushed past Hux, who hadn’t budged, and started up the stairs.

Rose went around and turned off all the lights, taking a minute to dump the forgotten chocolate chip cookies into tupperware, but paused when she saw him standing at the threshold of his room, Millicent in his arms.

“You all set? There’s clean towels in your bathroom.”

“Yes,” he mumbled. “I’m...good.” He wasn’t, she was sure. But she was already running on empty and had nothing else to offer him.

“Great. See you in the morning.” Hesitated, then stepped closer so she could give Millicent a scritch along her neck. “Sweet dreams, Millie.” 

Before she could move away, Hux’s fingers closed over hers, softly. She found herself looking up into his grey-green eyes. 

“I am sorry,” he repeated. “What I said was out of line.”

Rose nodded, slipped her digits from beneath his. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t. I—”

But she was already walking away, and she didn’t hear the rest.

She wasn’t surprised to find Jannah lounging on her bed when she got upstairs, the tv tuned to the news and droning faintly. The other woman started into a tirade, but Rose cut her off, fingers to her temple. She had been fighting off a headache all day, and the crying spell had finally set it off.

“Please, Jannah. I don’t want to hear it right now. I want to go to sleep and wake up in the morning and start over.” Shucked her jeans and tee shirt and put on her pajamas. Flopped down on the bed alongside her. “Okay?”

“I only want to say one thing, sweetie, and then I’ll let it drop.”

Rose pulled herself up so she was sitting cross-legged. “Yeah? I’m listening.”

Jannah’s mouth was set in a grim line. “That man will _never_ touch me. I’m sorry, but that’s my concession for letting him stay. You want a baby, you’re on your own. I’ll be here to support _you_ , no matter what, while he’s here and especially after, but I am _not_ having sex with him to increase the odds.”

Rose had known this was coming even before the evening’s explosive introductions. This wasn’t Jannah’s quest, and it had been unfair to expect her to commit as deeply as Rose was willing to commit.

“I understand. It’s probably for the best.” Rose threw an arm around her friend in a half-hug.

“Uh huh,” Jannah agreed, squeezing her back. “Unless you want me to murder him in cold blood.” She sighed. “You gonna be okay, or you want me to stay?”

“No, I think I’ll be alright.”

Jannah paused as she reached the door. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“I’ve always wanted a cat,” she mused. “Too bad she’s part of a package deal. You think we can keep her when we ship his ass back to First Order?” When Rose didn’t immediately respond, Jannah chuckled. “Relax, Rose. I’m joking.”

“Right,” Rose smiled.

“But—sweetie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get too attached.”

Rose knew she wasn’t just talking about the cat.

  
  


**

The next morning, accompanied by brunch — waffles, with all the fixings— that Rose had whipped up, the three of them hashed out the details of Hux’s stay. 

The man remained quiet but attentive through Jannah’s long list of missives about keeping the common spaces and his room clean and helping out when required, but when she finally passed the baton to Rose and talk switched to something more intimate than household chores, he perked up. 

Rose explained that, as a triage nurse, she was on call 24-7 in case someone couldn’t come in, but normally she worked three twelve-hour shifts in a row, Wednesday through Friday evenings, at Memorial Hospital at the edge of the city.

“When I come home in the mornings I’m pretty wrecked. So Saturday through Tuesday evenings... that’s when we’ll typically have our sessions.”

“Starting tonight?” That was his only question, it seemed. _Eager to assume his duties?_ Or to get the encounter over with?

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said, piercing gaze leveled at her, and Rose blushed in spite of herself. 

The subject of whether he would sleep with Jannah or not didn’t come up, and Rose suspected it never would. Whether Jannah had cornered him and made it clear, or their evident mutual dislike was enough, Rose wasn’t sure.

They drifted separately through the rest of the afternoon. Jannah shut herself in her office early on, and then Hux disappeared into his room. After the cleaning spree of the prior week, Rose decided a lazy day was in order. She planted herself on the couch, and proceeded to overdose on cookies while watching a marathon of _Love Island_ and surfing the web. She was accompanied by Millie, who had apparently decided it was more fun to hang out with the lady binging sweets and bad reality tv than to watch her owner rearrange books on a shelf. That’s what Rose assumed he was doing, anyway, from the occasional thumps and bumps that came from the direction of his room. She was curious, of course, but she figured he’d needed some space.

Six hours had passed before Rose knew it, and she popped her head in Jannah’s office to see if she wanted takeout.

“I was thinking Thai?”

“Whatever you want, sweetie,” Jannah replied, not bothering to look up from her computer.

Hux’s reaction wasn’t much more enthusiastic. He looked at the menu she provided, but seemed unfamiliar with most of it. _What the fuck did Phasma feed you?_

“Do you like spicy food?” Rose asked, and had to cackle at how fast he shook his head. “Pad thai it is, then. I’ll tell them to keep it mild.”

Once again they gathered around the table and shared a meal, but this time, without the formality of the previous conversation to propel them along, there were mostly dry observations about the weather and non-sequiturs that Rose didn’t have the energy to pursue. He seemed determined to reveal as little about himself as possible, answering any questions with single-word replies. Where are you from? _England._ Where in England? _London_ . How old were you when you moved to the States? _Eighteen._ And then Jannah asked him, with measured politeness, about the cat, so that, at least, gave them something to talk about for a while. It was evident that Hux adored the animal, who had seated herself on a chair at the table like another person and watched them eat with interest, and that reminded Rose that even horrible people probably cared about _something._

Too soon, dinner was over. As Rose was loading the dishes into the sink, Hux appeared beside her.

“I can do that,” he offered. “Might as well make myself useful.”

 _You’re about to,_ she thought, but said: “Thanks. Is nine o’clock okay?”

“Yes.”

She went upstairs, locked herself in her bathroom and took a ridiculously long shower, during which she shaved her legs and armpits even though she had done it only the day before. Thought about shaving her groin, too, and said fuck it: she didn’t want to deal with the razor burn. 

She texted Jannah: **Turn on ur music @ 9.**

Jannahs’ response came quickly: a thumbs up emoji, and **Good luck.**

Rose tried to remember if she had been this edgy before her first time with Finn. Probably, but his charming demeanor had put her at ease within minutes. She had loved that about him. She had loved _a lot_ about him.

But Finn had been gone for almost two years. So why did it feel like Rose was betraying him by inviting another man into her bed?

The knock broke her from her reverie, and Rose knew without a doubt now, as she sat on the edge of the bed in her bathrobe, that she was _not_ ready for this. It had been two years and it was _still_ too soon after...well, everything. And yet, the desperation for something of her own to love threatened to drown her. This was the solution. This was a means to an end.

“Come in.”

He entered, and the sounds of classical music wafted up the stairs from Jannah’s office in the brief moment the door was open. Even with it closed, she could still hear it, faint through the floorboards.

 _Never been fucked to a symphony before,_ she thought. With Paige, it had always been K-Pop, a fascination her older sister had hung onto long after puberty had passed.

He had showered, too, it seemed; his hair was halfway between wet and dry, and looked soft.

And god help her, she wanted to touch it. She wanted to touch him — all of him. And it disgusted her, this longing for intimacy with someone she barely knew, this agony. 

“Oh,” he said quietly, eyeing her robe. “I wasn’t sure how you would like to proceed. I can take off or leave on as much as you want, mistress.”

“Don’t call me that,” Rose spat. 

“Yes.” He acknowledged with a dip of his head. “Right. Shall I?” His hands were on the hem of his shirt.

“Please. If I’m going to be naked, so are you.”

His lips quirked at that. “Fair enough.” 

It took him a moment to strip down to his boxer-briefs, folding every article of clothing neatly and setting it on the bench at the end of her bed. Rose watched him do this and let the conflicting thoughts rush through her brain: _You want him. You hate him. You need him._

When he straightened, she could see his bare body was lean but not frail, his pale arms and legs covered in fine red-gold hair, so sparse she could barely see it. There wasn’t much hair on his chest, either — only a small patch that tapered into a trail leading straight to his groin. But he didn’t move any closer; he stood stiffly, and seemed to be navigating some internal dilemma, his eyes flitting from her to the floor, to the door and back again. 

“Would it make you more comfortable if you invited Jannah to join us?” he asked. 

Rose hadn’t expected that: so he hadn’t been warned that Jannah wanted nothing to do with him, it seemed. Not to mention the idea of a threesome would have appalled her. “What? No!” Rose scowled. “It’s not like that. We’re not a thing. She’s my _friend._ ”

“I— yes. I wasn’t sure.” He seemed relieved, his posture relaxing a fraction. “What would you like me to do?”

“Just come here and get it over with.” Without further preamble she untied her robe, let the silk slink off her shoulders. 

She knew she probably didn’t impress him much, not compared to Phasma, who was over six feet tall and carved out like a Greek statue, curved in all the right places, with perfect marble skin. Rose herself was 5’2” barefoot and had more pudge than she would have liked around her hips and midsection, especially after months of nothing except takeout and stress-eating snacks late at night. Still, she had full breasts for such a petite frame and her waist tucked nicely in, even with the extra weight. That was something, right? 

_It doesn’t matter whether he’s impressed or not_ , she reminded herself. _He’s just here to provide a service. To fulfill a role._

Still, when he crouched in front of her, put his hands on her knees, she almost lost her nerve. His touch was so soft it almost tickled, and yet it inflamed her skin. Parting her legs, his face remained impassive even at the sight of her unkempt pubic hair.

 _Should have shaved._ Except she hated shaving, and why should she do anything that would solely serve him and his typical male preferences? This was about her needs, not his.

But he _did_ need to be aroused for this encounter to proceed, and based on the bunched fabric at his crotch, he wasn’t even close. She was going to have to give a little in order to get what she required.

Rose was in the middle of this thought train when Hux suddenly lowered his mouth to her slit, his tongue on her before she could register what was happening. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” she squealed, pushing herself backward on the mattress and out of his reach.

“I’m—I’m giving you pleasure, mistress.”

Rose clenched her teeth. “I told you _not_ to call me that.”

“I’m sorry, I—” 

“I have a name, Hux. Use it.”

“Forgive me, Rose.” He rocked back on his haunches, mouth set in a frown. “I was only... It’s what was required of me. Before. I’m...I’m quite good at it, I promise. I can show you.” And he lunged forward again, his fingers digging into the meat of her calves as he pulled her towards him, but she clapped her thighs together, hard, before he could push his face between her legs.

“I don’t want you to do that,” she growled.

“Whyever not?” He seemed completely baffled that she regarded this as a transaction, one to be completed quickly and impersonally. “It...it will loosen you up. Make you more...receptive.”

“I know what cunnilingus is good for, Hux,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I just don’t want you to perform it on me.” 

His face fell. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t ask. You just assumed.”

“I’m sorry.” Looking at her through long red-blond lashes, he bit his lip once more. “May I—may I touch you?”

Rose relaxed her clenched thighs, motioning for him to slide up beside her. If some heavy petting were what it took to get him hard, she could live with that. “Yes. Gently,” she added. She had no idea what Phasma had been into, but she didn’t want to take any risks.

He settled next to her on his side, his face inches from hers, but she stared straight up at the ceiling. Drawing his long fingers in a languid path along her leg, a quiet chuckle escaped his lips when she shivered. His hand dipped down inside her thighs, then away. Closer and closer he came to her sex, without touching it. Still, Rose felt her breathing become shallow, felt her skin tingle at each stroke.

“You like to be teased,” he murmured, and she turned her head to find his gaze trained on her with what was, apparently, his characteristic intensity. He wore a pleased smile and his eyes were brimming with warmth.

 _It’s a lie,_ she had to remind herself. _He is an actor, playing a part, no different than the rest of them. He’s not enjoying this._ Except he clearly was.

He lowered his head towards her breast, pausing just as he was about to take her nipple in his mouth.

“May I?”

Licking her lips, Rose nodded.

He made contact in both places at the same time, his fingers finally slipping between her labia as his lips closed around her nipple. She let out a little moan, earning another chuckle, his breath hot against her breast. He slid a finger inside her, forgetting to ask permission, but suddenly, irrationally, Rose didn’t care.

“My my, you’re positively dripping already,” he said, unable to keep the smugness from his voice. “That took almost no time at all.”

“Be quiet,” grumbled Rose, even as he pushed another finger in alongside the first, pumping with deliberate restraint, still teasing. She bucked against his hand, and felt the hard rod of his penis next to her hip. _Success._

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice grown husky. “How do you want—?”

“Like this, on my back,” she said, whimpering as he withdrew his fingers. As he discarded his briefs and moved between her legs, she caught a glimpse of his member for the first time. Rose almost snorted at the absurd sight of it, angry red protruding from a thatch of curling auburn hair, but managed to restrain herself.

Besides, his cock itself wasn’t anything to laugh at. _He’s not small,_ she mused. _And oh_ — Hux sheathed himself inside her with one simple thrust — _damn, he feels good._ It felt magnificent to be filled like this again, after so long with only her fingers for company.

“Slow or fast?” he asked, his breath hitching as he sunk to the hilt. 

“Slow to start, please...mmmm.” His steady thrusts touched a place deep inside her, a place she couldn’t reach on her own. _Fuck, this isn’t going to take long._

“Do I please you, Rose?” he rasped, leaning forward to kiss her, but she denied him access to her mouth, turning her head away. _None of that._ He made a sound of frustration, but didn’t break his rhythm. She pushed a hand between them so she could touch her clitoris, and he backed off obligingly, changing the angle and sending a sharp jolt of intense pleasure through her hips, and she moaned.

“Yes, you please me,” she offered, knowing he needed to hear it. She closed her eyes, let herself get swept up in the feeling of him moving within her, little hums of appreciation escaping her lips with each thrust. She found the right spot, then, with her finger, and within seconds the waves crashed through her core and she was coming undone, keening obscene notes that carried higher than she intended. She had meant to stay quiet, to grit her teeth and not telegraph her pleasure, but it was too late now. 

With renewed vigor, he thrust through her orgasm, his own movements becoming erratic, until, groaning, he spent himself inside her. 

Rose, coming down, opened her eyes and tried to remind herself that she had gotten what she needed and this encounter was done and dusted. But it was difficult to think clinically as he nuzzled her neck with his nose, his cock softening inside her. “I’ll stay for a moment,” he said. “Not sure if it helps, but—if that’s okay?”

“Mmmm,” she agreed. There was a strand of hair that had fallen across his brow that she almost reached to brush back, but she stopped herself. “Thank you. For asking.”

“You’re welcome, Rose.” A little thrill, afresh, when he said her name so sweetly. It had been a long time, after all, since a man had spoken it. A long time, too, since she had felt so sated: loose, her limbs slack, her mind quiet.

She knew it wouldn’t last, but it was a nice feeling all the same.

When Hux did pull out of her a minute later, he lightly pushed her knees up and back.

“Lie that for a bit, hmm? I’ll get cleaned up.” He moved off towards the bathroom, and Rose complied with his request. Scientifically speaking, putting her knees up like this afterwards did jack shit, but it always felt better to be still for a moment.

 _Please work,_ she thought, _so I never have to do this again._ But she found her mind already straying to the next time, and the next. Most women didn’t keep their men just for conception, after all. She could _make_ him do that to her whenever she wanted. _Every night, even, damn the schedule._ A smile made its way onto her lips, but when she heard Hux coming back into the room, she quickly adjusted her expression.

Cupping her sex with a warm washcloth, he smoothed away any outward evidence of their coupling. This gentle, considerate act sent pangs through her belly. It was almost too intimate. Rose cleared her throat and rolled away from his hand.

“Thanks—thank you. I’m good.” She sat up and took the washcloth from him, unable to meet his eyes. “You’re dismissed.”

It was cruel, to speak that way to him, but she needed to create and maintain a distance between them. She needed to forget his tender touch and the way he had satisfied her. She couldn’t let him linger in her bed afterwards, like she had Finn. That’s where it had all started to go wrong, she realized now.

She had gotten _attached_ , and she was determined not to let it happen again. 

“I see,” Hux said, and the disappointment in his voice was palpable. She could hear him maneuvering back into his clothes. “I’ll catch you in the morning, then.”

“Yes,” she said, but before she could turn away completely, he took her chin in his hand, lifted her face to his.

“Goodnight, Rose,” he whispered, and he kissed her. Soft and slow, he pressed his mouth to hers, and she found herself reluctant to pull away. She was still sitting there, eyes closed, lips parted, when the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading! 
> 
> I struggled with the tone in this chapter, and I really had to dial back how much of an asshole Hux was at first, haha. And then I decided I needed something to diffuse the tension even more and thus Millicent was introduced way earlier than I originally planned. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Next chapter: I have absolutely zero content written for it...so this one will probably take a few weeks. Get ready to finally get Ben's POV!


	4. Ben - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple housekeeping things:
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments I’ve received so far! I appreciate every single one.
> 
> A story note: I did age Rey up a bit in this, just so it was more plausible that she was a college grad and had a few years experience running Empire Farms. For my purpose here, she’s around twenty-four years old, so roughly the same age as Rose.
> 
> Unlike this chapter (which was just a bitch from start to finish...just could not get into writing it, sadly), the next one is partially written, and will almost certainly be from Hux’s POV (possibly a combo of his and Rose’s POV... I haven’t decided yet). Expect that sometime the week of November 29th (I hope). After that, I might take a short hiatus on this fic in order to concentrate on Sing A Lunar Song for a while.

It was a little after four in the morning when Ben woke, and at first he panicked, having forgotten where he was. 

As the sights and sounds of the room came into focus he realized, with relief, that he was no longer in the cell to which he had been confined for two excruciatingly long years, but next to a woman in a large, luxurious bed. 

Rey lay on her back, emitting soft little snores, and the man felt a rush of tenderness towards her, took comfort in the exhalations, in the steady rise and fall of her chest in the pale moonlight.

He may have exchanged one set of captors for another, but belonging to the Palpatine heiress was infinitely preferable to the alternative, and the comfort provided by such an arrangement infinitely more than he deserved.

And sweet Rey, with her chestnut hair and smattering of freckles and wide, trusting smile — he would never be worthy of her. Yet Ben found himself falling all the same. She was a beacon of light, and having spent a large part of his adult life languishing in the dark, it was impossible not to gravitate towards her shine.

In the daylight hours, she kept him busy. After that first twenty-four hours spent slipping in and out of slumber, she seemed dissatisfied to let him linger in bed or hide in his room. She pulled him along in her wake, all over the house and the farm, navigating with him through awkward introductions to all her staff. They were polite but distant, and he was grateful for it, felt lucky Ben Solo had been out of the public spotlight for so long. Save the ears, which he hid well with his dark hair, he looked little like he had before disappearing underground; they knew only Kylo Ren, who hid like a coward behind a mask. They had no reason to suspect he was anything more than a man with whom their mistress had become suddenly and intensely infatuated.

The horses were easier, of course. The animals accepted him, no uneasy sidelong glances leveled in his direction, no questions asked. When Rey had taken him to the barn on his fourth day, intent on filing some rare downtime with a trail ride, he’d shocked her by tacking up his assigned mount — a big black draft cross named Mustafar — without assistance and swinging into the saddle with as much grace as his large frame allowed. 

She’d managed to stammer from the ground where she was still standing, slack-jawed: “You...know how to ride.”

It had been years since he had been on a horse, but the slight squeeze of his thighs and the slackening of the reins, allowing the gelding to walk forward a few feet, came back easily enough. “Mmmhmmm. Learned a long time ago.” Ben’s tongue had loosened considerably since the first day at Empire Farms, but he had never been much of a talker. To her credit, Rey had already adapted to his abbreviated responses and never seemed bothered by them.

“That’s fantastic! I thought I was going to have to give you lessons.” She’d swung into her own saddle then, with an ease he envied, and they had spent the afternoon touring the back acres of the farm on well worn trails. The hour-long ride was short but enough for the rest of his horsemanship skills to come rushing back, while Mustafar had proved a willing mount who trusted his rider. 

And Rey had beamed at him when they returned to the barn, making him blush. It felt like any uncertainty that had lingered in her perception of him had dissipated. 

With Rey dragging him happily from barn to office, from person to person, he had little time to think much about what had come before. He was so exhausted at the end of the day he hardly dreamed, which was a blessing. His nightly sojourns had taken on a nightmarish quality, and that had not changed.

Someday, perhaps, he would dream soft, sweet things again. For the present, the dreams were bad...but the memories were worse.

Most of the time, in Rey’s presence, it was easy to tuck them away, to forget, for a while at least, his demons. But sometimes, especially in the early dawn hours when the half-light created shifting shadows on the wall that stoked some primal fear in his gut, they came out to play. 

A particularly nasty one snuck through his defenses now, as he crowded closer to Rey on the bed and tried — and failed — to fight it off.

_He is standing at attention, held by two beefy women, whose only purpose at this facility is to manhandle the goods from one location to another. There is a thick metal collar around his neck, chafing the delicate skin there, leaving it rubbed raw._

_There is a gathering happening in the next room. He can hear the murmur of voices, followed by a hush rippling through the crowd. A tinny voiceover sounds through cheap speakers._

_The commercial — the one they have been developing alongside the drug — is finally ready for viewing._

_“Trouble in paradise? Is your man aggressive, agitated?” Angry chords. “Or is he depressed, unable to perform?” Sad, somber music. “Well now there’s a solution to both. Achieve domestic bliss with BlissPlus, the newest product from Pioneer Harmony, the premier pharmaceutical company.” An upbeat, energetic melody now, with the typical vague-but-sciency-sounding schtick layered over it. “BlissPlus targets the receptors in his brain and adjusts accordingly, up or down, depending on his mood...” Exchanges between two actors: “How are you feeling today, darling?....Oh wonderful, dear. Can I help you with the dishes?...Oh, Eddie, you must be feeling frisky!...Thanks to BlissPlus, I’m ready to knock your socks off, sweetheart!” More medical jargon, and then the call to action: “He’s_ your _man. Mold him into_ exactly _what you want him to be! Talk to his doctor today and max out_ your _bliss with BlissPlus. FDA and AWA approved.”_

_Subdued applause from the unseen audience._

_What the ad doesn’t tell them, Ben thinks, is that the drug doesn’t only just level out moods and make the man able to fuck at the drop of a hat...it deposits a voice in the back of his brain, something that whispers dark things. Ben calls it the Lust, and although he’s tried to tell his captors about its menacing hiss, they don’t appear to care._

_“Seems a little too nostalgic to me.” The woman critiquing the commercial is older. British. “Our primary market for this is twenty- and thirty-somethings. The up-and-comers. Women whose only understanding of the fifties is from textbooks.” Murmurs of agreement. “Something to consider anyway — less cheerful, I should think. More sultry.” A pause as the others hurriedly make note of her remarks, no doubt. “Now, show me what I really came to see.”_

_The handlers tighten their grips on his forearms and drag him, stumbling, into the room. He is positioned in front of the now blank screen, and finds himself face to face with Erica Pryde, Chief Operating Officer of First Order._

_“Oh, this is delicious irony,” she proclaims. She is in her mid-sixties but still stands tall. Unbent, unyielding in her conviction, the way a senior member of First Order should be. “Senator Organa blocks our progress at every turn above the surface, but below it...we have her precious son. How are you feeling, Ben Solo?” Her calculating gaze makes him think of a hunter watching, unsympathetic, an animal strain against the teeth of the trap around its leg. “Wretched, I hope.” She waits for an answer, her mouth twisted into a sharp smile, but his tongue remains tied._

_“He doesn’t even know his own name half the time, ma’am,” one of the other women says — the scientist, the one who is in charge of the experiments — and Pryde sighs with disappointment._

_“Hmm. Pity. I suppose I can taunt him some other time. He’s on the max dose?”_

_“Yes ma’am.”_

_“Fantastic. A demonstration, if you would.”_

_The handlers release him. For a moment he feels the absence of their grip and thinks about running._ _But then he sees_ her _face and hears_ her _kind voice: the one who has been his companion during these tests._

_He doesn’t even know her name, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is her command: “Come here.”_

_The Lust purrs in the back of his brain, like the serpent in the garden of Eden:_ Give in to temptation.

 _He crosses the room to where she waits on a bed set up for this purpose, all thought of bolting driven from his mind. All he sees is her petite figure, her soft blond hair spread around her on the deep red satin of the sheets._ Give her whatever she desires, _the Lust commands. Already engorged, his cock strains against the thin fabric caging it._

_“Come up here.” She pats the spot next to her. He slides onto the bed. Waits._

_“Make love to me,” she orders, but to him it sounds like begging. They move in unison, shifting so she is beneath him, legs opened willingly. “Kiss me.”_

_He struggles to pull his boxers down as he presses his mouth to hers. Without warning, just as he frees himself from the confines of the fabric, his companion tenses beneath him. “Stop.”_

_He complies, but the Lust flexes, irritated, in his mind._ This is a test, _it whispers._ Don’t stop. She _wants_ you to keep going. 

_“I’ve seen enough,” Pryde is saying. Apparently she isn’t interested in witnessing them fuck; chairs scrape across the floor as she and her retinue stand. “But, by all means, ladies...enjoy the show.”_

_Except no one is watching them. His companion is tense, trapped by his body, and no one can see when his hand travels to the hollow of her throat: a caress now, but with the promise of violence._

_“Hey,” she says, a warning that he doesn’t register. His hand contracts, fingers pressing into the flesh of her neck, pressing her into the mattress._

_“Stop,” his companion squeaks. He tightens his fingers a fraction. “Stop.” Panic laces her voice, then blooms as she begins to struggle against his hand. “Stop! Please, stop!”_

_A commotion behind him, and shouting. He squeezes, and the woman’s cries become gasps._

Take her now, _the Lust implores, much more compelling than the blows from her feeble fists as she batters at his back. He loosens his grip on her neck for a fraction of a second, letting her gulp one desperate breath, only to squeeze tighter._

_She chokes, and still no one stops him._

_Until, suddenly, the collar around his neck constricts and he finds himself gasping for air even as he lets go and his companion breathes again. The handlers haul him off the woman, who coughs and massages her throat all while glaring daggers at her superiors. A blow from something sharp-edged across his shoulder: he’ll wear another scar for his disobedience. But the collar loosens as soon as he has been pulled away: he is too precious a commodity to deprive of oxygen for too long._

_Erica Pryde is watching him like a hawk. The Lust, enraged now, bellows in his brain, causes him to strain against the handlers to follow the blonde’s progress with his eyes as she flees the room:_ Fight! Bite and claw your way back to your prize. She’s yours to take—

_“It seems we haven’t quite worked out all the kinks, have we?”_

— She’s ripe, ready for the plucking. And she’s not the only one — a roomful of cunts that need to be filled, bitches to be bred. You are the most powerful one here, you are a beast—

 _He growls like an animal, and this earns him another scraping blow and a jab in the neck, the needle delivering a sedative to his veins. The Lust quiets, the voice dimming until it’s reduced once again to a whisper._ You could have had her...she could have been yours… _His eyelids droop, but he forces them back open._

_“— the formula could just need a small tweak.” The scientist’s voice wavers between fear and fascination. “We’ll look into it. Should still be on track for the Phase II trials—”_

_Pryde cuts her off. “I should hope so. They want this on the shelves by Christmas at the latest. We don’t want to disappoint them_ again _, do we?”_

_“No ma’am.”_

_The COO is close now, looking down at where his penis has gone flaccid under the influence of the sedative. She scoffs, then locks eyes with him. “The monster still lurks beneath the surface, doesn’t it Ben?” She turns to regard the clipboard the scientist is offering her, so she can sign off on something. “Up his dose by 30%.”_

_The scientist stuttered: “B—but, ma’am, that could_ kill _him.”_

_“Then we’ll be doing the world a favor, won’t we? I’ll be back on the 25th and I expect results.” She levels one more look at him. Licks her lips. “See you soon, Ben.” Sweeps from the room._

_As soon as Pryde and her minions are gone, the scientist motions towards the other room from whence he came, her voice dripping with disgust. “Put him back in the damn cage. Fucking brute almost ruined months of work...” Her speech devolves into a mutter. She is already disappearing into her own head, but she emerges just long enough to grumble: “And no fucking dinner for him. Let him starve.”_

_So he is returned to the ten by ten box that has become his life, barely able to keep his eyes open. The lack of a meal doesn’t concern him. He’d probably just throw it up anyways, the cocktail of BlissPlus and the sedative causing his stomach to roil._

_The Lust hisses at him from its safe haven in the back of his brain:_ Next time, then. We just have to be patient. Just be patient a little longer...

_He had all the time in the world to wait, because he knew they were never — ever — going to let him go._

It was Rey’s voice that brought him back to the present. “Ben? Are you okay?” She turned to face him, touching his hand. “You’re shaking.”

The sound that came from his throat was noncommittal, but he rested his forehead against hers for a moment. Touch was still easier than talking, than trying to explain the horrors of where he had been held until she had swooped in without warning and rescued him.

His temple throbbed now, a remnant of the unwanted memory, and he knew he’d get no more sleep that morning.

Still, he let Rey snuggle closer, stroking her fingers lightly along his skin, until she slumbered once more, and he was left alone once again with his traitorous mind, his festering secrets.

The day to spill them had come, and Ben dreaded it. Agent Green had already spoken to Rey on the phone twice previously, inquiring about his mental state, and his benefactor hadn’t been able to put the agent off any longer. But Rey had refused to hide the contents of her conversations with Green from him, and to the agent’s chagrin, had put her on speakerphone in his presence to discuss when he might be ready to meet. If the older woman was originally counting on taking him by surprise at their first encounter, Rey had made sure that was no longer possible.

“I don’t want you to be ambushed,” she had told him after hanging up. “You deserve to know what’s going on.”

 _You’re safe with me._ Whispered in the dark that first night, when he sought comfort from her nearness, he hadn’t been sure if they were just empty words.

Every day spent in her presence seemed to indicate they weren’t, and yet Ben still worried. She only knew a fraction of what he had done as Kylo Ren, and knew nothing of his stint in the BlissPlus labs.

Would she change her mind about saving him when she realized the magnitude of his monsterhood?

Filled with worry, he listened to Rey’s steady breathing and waited for the alarm with growing trepidation.

**

Rey’s office — once old Mrs. Palpatine’s — was all mahogany wood and leather armchairs, a decidedly masculine, old money environment. He supposed the Palpatine matriarch had modeled her base of operations after other titans in the racing industry, if not because she admired their taste, but because she could improve upon it. It had a timeless air that impressed him, and he spent several minutes looking around at the decor, avoiding the eyes of the women who had come to interrogate him.

Finally, the therapist cleared her throat, and Ben _had_ to look at her. “Would you be more comfortable if Miss Palpatine stayed in the room?” The therapist glanced between them over the lenses of her bifocals, scratching her pen on the pad. 

Ben nodded, glancing at Rey, who smiled in the tender way that made him feel safe. “Please?”

Rey settled back in her chair. “Of course.”

The therapist signaled to Green to shut the door, clapped her hands together. “All right then. Let’s get started. My name is Amilyn. It’s nice to meet you.” 

A slender hand, beringed, extended towards him. He took it, his touch tentative, but she didn’t seem put off that he only squeezed her fingers for a second before releasing them.

“How are you feeling today, Ben?” 

“Okay.”

“Miss Palpatine said you’ve been sick to your stomach on and off. Is that any better today?”

“Yeah.” He’d managed to keep dinner down the previous evening, plus some oatmeal and fruit that morning, although now his nerves were making the contents of his stomach roil. _Calm down._ He thought of Uncle Luke’s kooky meditation methods and wondered if — had he actually paid any attention — that they would help him now.

_‘Self care, buddy. You can’t expect anyone else in this world to take care of you...you gotta do it yourself.’_

_‘But you’ve got Aunt Mara,’ Ben had said. ‘She takes care of you.’_

_‘Sure she does, kid. But she can’t see what’s up here.’ Luke had tapped his temple. ‘No one else can know what’s going on in that head of yours except you. So if you need a break or some space, you take it, okay?’_

He had taken a break, all right — for nine long years he had been living as someone else, and the two years after, well...they had been a break of a different sort. 

He wondered what Luke and Mara were doing right then. If he were to stroll up to the ranch compound and ring the bell, would they be happy to see him?

_Luke and Mara and the rest, gathered around a campfire, laughing. The dogs, C3PO and R2D2, frolicking across the fields ahead of the horses as they rode. Sitting around the dining room table, sharing food and camaraderie with whoever showed up that night for a feed. The nervous energy leading up to a rally or protest. Knowing he was making a difference, no matter how small._

But the place he pictured didn’t exist any more, he knew. It had encompassed only six months of his fifteenth year, and then they had moved on to the next place, alway running. Besides, his aunt and uncle would have moved on from missing him long ago. At least that’s what he told himself.

“Ben?” Amilyn had leaned forward, and he realized it wasn’t the first time she had said his name, trying to bring him back to reality. “Where’d you go, just then?”

He shrugged, and she didn’t pursue it. 

“What about your head? Is it still hurting quite a lot?”

“Not a lot...some.” He looked at Rey again, wanting to reassure her in spite of the splitting headache he’d pummeled into submission with three ibu profen that morning. “Better every day.”

“That’s good to hear. Very good. Do you think you feel up to answering some questions from Agent Green today?” The agent was hovering at the door. Her face was neutral but her posture wasn’t: her crossed arms screamed of impatience.

“I—I don’t know.”

“That’s fine. Absolutely fine.” Amilyn’s smile was indulgent, and reminded him of his mother’s. Another wave of longing rushed over him.

He missed Leia. _Had_ missed her, every fucking day, even the days he was so deep in the Final Order and in the Kylo Ren persona that he had forgotten everything else.

But hand in hand with the longing came anger. At her, and at his own stupidity. The tears in his eyes took him by surprise. He blinked, felt Rey’s hand on his arm.

“I think maybe we need to wrap it up for now,” she declared. “Let’s try again in a few days, hmm?”

Amilyn looked to Green, who sighed and nodded in acquiescence.

“We’ll see you on Thursday then, Ben.” Amilyn flipped her notebook shut. “Alright?”

“Okay,” he mumbled. A tear trickled the length of his nose, catching on the tip. He watched from the corner of his eye as Rey escorted the other two women from the room. 

“I’ll be right back.” He could tell she was worried, so he sniffed and took a tissue from the box on Rey’s desk, removing the evidence of his weakness from his face. When she returned a moment later, she took his hand.

“C’mon. Let’s go.” He didn’t have to ask where.

They threw bareback pads on two of the schooling horses — he on Mustafar and she on Pasaana — and set out on the trail that ran to the south of the property, towards the river. The setting sun cast a glowing haze over everything: the fields, the forest, and them. Rey turned back to look at him at one point, her hair and skin dappled with the light like Pasaana’s chestnut coat, and he wanted to save that picture in his mind forever.

When they reached the water they turned the horses loose, knowing they wouldn’t stray far as they grazed. 

“You did well,” Rey said, as they sat side by side on the little dock that jutted out into the shallow, calm part of the stream. She had even taken her boots off, and dangled her feet in the water. “Just remember, you get to do this on your terms, not on theirs.”

“I know,” he said. “But—” Snoke was still out there, plotting. The longer Ben waited to divulge his secrets, the more trouble his former mentor could create. And First Order...how close were they to unleashing BlissPlus on the unsuspecting public?

“No buts,” Rey said. “You’ve had a hell of a decade, Ben Solo. They can wait a little longer for your memoir.”

He nodded. They were quiet for awhile, and the image of her that first night, sitting up in bed, fear flashing in her eyes, returned to him. “Rey?”

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t— it doesn’t bother you? The things I did—” _The awful fucking things..._

She frowned. “Do you regret them?”

He nodded again. “I do. I regret...so much.” 

_Leaving the compound, leaving Luke and Mara. Exchanging the idyllic if ineffectual ideas of the Rebel Alliance for something darker. Every single minute spent under Snoke’s tutelage._

“I’d be a lot more bothered if you didn’t,” she assured, bumping his shoulder with hers. 

“I could be lying.”

Rey looked at him long and hard, and he let himself be consumed by her hazel eyes. Her gaze was not harsh enough to flay him, to lay bare all his sins, but she saw him all the same.

“But you’re not,” she said, soft. Tipped her head up...and kissed him.

And he let her, his mind addled with longing for the woman before him, until the Lust roared to life from where it had been coiled, waiting.

 _You’re all alone out here...no one to hear if you take control and take what you want. And you_ do _want her, don’t you?_

He could feel himself growing stiff as her lips pressed against his, as she coaxed his mouth open with her tongue, inviting herself in.

_You’re an animal, a man with a beast inside, snarling and snapping and just waiting to be let free. Let it free. Let it—_

Her hands were roaming — one on his neck, one in his hair, and then the one on his neck started wandering lower, across his chest.

 _No!_ He fought the voice, pushing it back to where it had lain dormant for days. He might have asked himself “Why now?”, except he _knew_ why: her fingers and her tongue, and the heat radiating from her as she leaned into his body. 

“Rey,” he managed to gulp out. “Rey, stop.”

Her hands immediately stilled, and she pulled her face away, her brow furrowed. “Is— was that too much?” She didn’t wait for confirmation, just looked away, picking at a rough spot in the wood of the dock with her fingernails. “I’m sorry. I’m such an _idiot._ ” The stress was all on the last word, and before he could protest otherwise, she was lurching to her feet, grabbing her boots. 

“Rey—” 

“It’s almost four-thirty. I promised I’d go over the expense reports with Priscilla. We should get back.”

“Do you mind if I sit here for a bit? I just—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Take your time. Dinner’s at six.”

She clucked to Pasaana, who swiveled her ears forward at the sound and came trotting. “See you in a bit,” she called as she vaulted up and rode off, still barefoot. 

As soon as she had rounded a copse of trees, disappearing from view, Ben clenched his fists and let a guttural roar tear from his throat. 

“God-fucking-DAMN-IT,” he bellowed, startling the ducks who were hanging around the reeds on the opposite bank into flight, squawking in alarm. 

_There’s always next time,_ the Lust whispered from where he had beaten it back, and Ben bellowed again, slamming one palm into his forehead. “SHUT UP!” 

He tried to recall, however dimly, anything his uncle had told him about meditating. _Okay Luke, here goes._ And to his surprise, he heard Luke’s voice as clearly as if the older man were standing behind him.

_Find a place you can be quiet. Still. Outside is a good bet. Close your eyes, and let the sounds of nature surround you...and focus on your breathing._

Ben listened to the water rolling slowly past his feet, then drew his attention to his own deep breaths. In...out...in…out.

_Stay that way for five minutes...ten minutes. However long it takes._

So Ben did, and he felt the calm settle around him, his world shrunk down to a single point - his own body and its most basic functions. In...out...in...out.

_Every time you feel your mind wander, just pull it back, gently._

He had no idea how long he sat like that, just being. 

_Let yourself feel whatever emotions you need to, and try to understand them._

There were so many: the regret...the anger...the fear. But mostly he felt _ready_ now, for whatever the world had to throw at him next.

When Amilyn and Green came again, he’d do his best to tell them everything, starting with First Order’s experimentations with BlissPlus. And about the Lust, which was blessedly silent now, even when he thought of its insistent susurrations.

It was an irritated neigh that brought him back the rest of the way. He blinked — the sun had dropped further towards the horizon. He turned to find Mustafar standing at the top of the bank looking down. The black gelding tossed his head and nickered.

“You want your dinner,” Ben mused. “Didn’t get enough grass?” He checked the watch Rey had given him — 5:15. If he had sat oblivious any longer, the horse probably would have gone back to the barn without him.

He leapt up the stairs two at a time. Mustafar stayed still as he did his best imitation of Rey and launched himself onto the horse’s back. The gelding danced in place for a moment, then responded to the pressure of Ben’s legs against his sides, springing into a gallop.

They raced their way back along the track, through the field, just _flying_. Mustafar moved smoothly beneath him, his long stride devouring the ground. Holding on for dear life, Ben kept one hand wound in the horse’s mane, the other gripping the reins. He could feel a smile slide onto his face as the horse ran, his lips stretching wider and wider as they went. Joy sang, unexpected, in his heart, and he had to resist the urge to whoop aloud, lest he startle his mount. 

It had been so long since he had forgotten the sensation of freedom riding a horse brought, and he never wanted to lose it again.

Slowing Mustafar to a jog as the schooling barn came into view, he clattered into the yard at a fast trot. But instead of one of the grooms waiting to take the horse off his hands, he found Rey and Kaydel waiting in a golf cart, along with a woman he didn’t know.

“See, here he is,” Rey exclaimed to the unknown party. “No need to send in the cavalry.” She leapt from her seat as he dismounted, hurried over.

“She’s from the AWA, she insisted she’s not leaving until she talks to you, she—”

The woman’s voice rang out, cutting off Rey’s rushed whisper. “Ben Solo? My name is Laura D’Acy. I’m a representative of the Asset Welfare Agency. I’d like to speak to you about your situation here. Miss Palpatine assured me the use of her office, if you were willing.”

“You don’t need to talk to her,” Rey was murmuring. “You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to, you know that—”

“It’s okay,” he replied sotto voce, then louder: “I need to get him cooled down.”

“Oh, why don’t you let Miss Palpatine do that,” the AWA rep said amiably. “I’ve heard she’s quite capable.”

Rey’s jaw was set — it was clear being ordered around in her own home rankled her — but she inclined her head, taking Mustafar’s reins from him. “Drive them back, will you Kay, and show them to my office?” The blonde complied without question. 

The AWA rep didn’t utter another word until Kaydel shut the door on them. This room had suddenly become the source of all Ben’s anxiety; he fully expected D’Acy to produce a spotlight and turn it on him, instructing him to sing like a canary. Instead, the first thing she said dumbfounded him. 

“Thank heavens you’re safe.” She smiled, reached over the desk and made to pat his hand, but he jerked it away. “Ben...you don’t remember me, do you?” D’Acy had greying blonde hair and a nose too large for her face, but she possessed the same motherly quality Amilyn had displayed earlier.

“Who are you?” 

“A friend.” 

Despite her kind face, Ben doubted that very much, and he was already making calculations. The chances of Rey still being out at the barn were high, and he wasn’t sure if Kaydel was capable of defending him if the need arose. The third person his mind went to was Jessika, but she was presumably still out on her five o’clock perimeter patrol. Rey’s household had a dozen staff milling about at any given time, but which ones could he trust?

Ben hadn’t even noticed D’Acy stand and skirt around the desk until she was nearly next to him. Lurching into action, he snatched Rey’s letter opener and brandished it between he and the older woman like a knife. Not that its dull blade would do much damage, but it was better than nothing.

“Don’t come any closer!”

D’Acy put her hands up, eyes wide. “Good lord, does she have you brainwashed already? Calm down.”

“Are you with _him_? Did he send you?” He asked the questions even though the rational part of his brain reasoned that she didn’t seem like the type Snoke would recruit. 

“Did who send me, Ben?” When he didn’t elaborate, she huffed. “Good grief! I _am_ an AWA rep…” She pulled the cord hanging around her neck. Flashed her credentials, which looked legit. “I have been for almost twenty years now. But I’ve been friends with your mother for longer.”

He lowered the blade. “My mother?”

She nodded. “It’s really no surprise you don’t remember me. The last time I saw you, you were seven...or was it eight? It was at your father’s birthday party, just before…well, you know.”

_The plague. Dad’s death. Mom’s throwing herself into work, and ignoring her only child. Being sent away to live with Luke._

“She’s been so worried. She tried to regain custody of you when you resurfaced two months ago, but the FBI had other ideas. Has the Palpatine girl been forcing you to talk to them?”

“What?”

“Miss Palpatine. Is she—”

Ben slammed the letter opener down on the desk, startling D’Acy into taking a step back. “No. Rey hasn’t forced me to do anything.” It was technically true, and he wasn’t about to divulge that he had already begun speaking with the Bureau...even if he hadn’t actually given them any information yet.

“Good. That’s good, because the last thing your mother wants is you cooperating with the FBI without her legal team assessing the risks.”

He had forgotten Leia was a senator now. Her family had always had money — although the Organas couldn’t come anywhere close to the Palpatines in that respect — but as the years had passed she’d also accumulated a great deal of influence. _Senator Organa, champion of men’s rights. If only that concern had factored into her decision decades earlier, and had extended to her own offspring._

“Why should I care what she wants? She _gave_ me away.” His voice was gaining volume now, and he ignored D’Acy’s attempts to hush him. “Sent me to live with my aunt and uncle without a second fucking thought.”

“She regrets how she handled that, Ben. Your father had just died. She wasn’t capable of—”

Ben snarled, and she stuttered to a stop. “Fuck that. She’s my mother! She had an obligation to take care of me, to protect me. Instead she shipped me off into the ranks of fanatics. Sure, they were family, but she was my _mom._ I wanted to be with her.”

He hadn’t strung this many sentences together in years. It felt good to yell at someone, to express the rage, simmering since early adolescence, aloud.

“I know, Ben, and _she_ knows,” D’Acy assured. “Believe me, she knows. She wants to make up for all the time together you’ve lost. If you come with me now, I’ll make sure you get back to her safely.”

And just like that, he was caught off guard again. “What do you mean?” 

“I can get you out of here, on some pretense or other. I just need to make a few quick phone calls.”

“Why? Rey—”

“Oh, come now dear — you may have disappeared off the face of the earth for a decade, but I doubt you were living under a rock. Sheba Palpatine directly opposed all the good your mother tried to accomplish for _years._ Whichever way Leia tried to forge ahead, Palpatine got the lobbyists in her pocket to sway the representatives in the opposite direction.” D’Acy sighed. “The strides your mother has made in the last thirty-six months, after that old...crone...kicked the bucket, have been monumental… And then out of nowhere you reappear, and who swoops in and snatches you away from her at the last moment? Sheba Palpatine’s _very_ ambitious granddaughter! You surely can’t believe that’s a coincidence?” 

“Rey’s different.” He knew it in his bones, could feel it in the gentle way she touched him, coaxed him along. Gave him the time and the space he needed to recover.

“But Ben, how can you be sure?” D’Acy’s sad smile mocked him. “You barely know the girl, and the fruit never falls far from the tree, in my experience.”

For a moment he plumbed the depths of his memory, and found a fuzzy image, corresponding with the ten-foot-tall portrait that hung in the front hall. Sheba Palpatine had been a hunched vulture of a woman, making a courtesy call at their home, about some fundraiser or something. He had never seen his mother more uncomfortable as she showed the shriveled old woman into their foyer, where Ben was waiting politely as instructed. Sheba had pinched his cheek, hard. _What a handsome boy._ A sly grin. _If you’re lucky, dear, he’ll take after you more than he will your scoundrel of a husband._ A wink, and another pinch, harder still. His cheek had hurt for days.

 _The fruit never falls far from the tree…_ “Then you should know I’m my mother’s son,” he growled. “Rey doesn’t have some weird ulterior motive or familial vendetta she’s trying to carry out.” Saying it aloud made it seem even more ridiculous. _It isn’t her they should be worried about._ “I feel safe here. I’m not leaving.”

D’Acy sighed and rolled her eyes, defeated. “Your mother did say you were bound to be stubborn, although she attributed that trait to your father, of course.” She moved back behind the desk, sat back down. “She’s not going to be happy I’ve failed, but you appear to be well taken care of. She hasn’t…?” D’Acy let the implied question dangle. 

“For the second time, no. I haven’t been forced to do _anything._ ” He knew he shouldn’t begrudge D’Acy asking, though, not with the drugs already on the market and BlissPlus on the horizon.

D’Acy nodded. “Okay. That’s that then, I suppose. But at least let me leave you with this.” She reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a burner phone. “My direct line at the AWA office in the city is pre-programmed in there.” She slid the phone across the wood, anticipating that he wouldn’t take it from her hand. “Don’t let Miss Palpatine see it, all right?”

He didn’t respond verbally, but the feeling of dread that had been chasing him since his release into Rey’s care made him take the phone and put it in his pocket, which seemed to satisfy her. It was another life line, should Snoke make any attempt to come after him, and he wasn’t going to refuse that.

“Any sign of trouble, from _any_ source, just give me a ring, yeah?” D’Acy crossed to the door, their business concluded, but one niggling doubt made Ben call after her.

“If Leia is so worried, why didn’t she come for me herself?”

D’Acy smiled. “Your mother’s number is in there as well. Ask her.”

Kaydel was waiting to escort the AWA rep out, but not before Rey came jogging down the hall, looking flustered.

“Miss D’Acy, I feel like I should—”

“Not to worry, Miss Palpatine. Everything seems in order. I’ll be on my way. Take care now.” She followed Kaydel out the door without looking back.

“Bloody hell,” Rey swore, catching her breath. “I got back up here as fast as I could. What was all that about?” She touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. But before he could elaborate further, the dinner bell rang. 

“I can have Hortense keep a plate warm for you,” Rey offered, but to his shock his stomach let out an insistent grumble.

“I think I’m actually _hungry_.” Grinned, because it was the first time in a long time.

“Good.” Rey returned the smile. “Good.”

Later the evening had turned chilly, so Rey loaded up the wood-burning hearth in her room and they lounged together on the sofa in front of it. And as the fire crackled, Ben told her everything. 

_Well, almost everything._ There were still memories he wasn’t prepared to confront, but he felt obligated to give her a rundown before he sprung the same information on Green and Amilyn in two days’ time.

“Jesus Christ,” she said, when he finally fell silent. “I’m so sorry, Ben.”

“Some might say I got what I deserved.”

“No.” Rey shook her head, and he thought she looked a little guilty, as if she had maybe had similar sentiments at one point. “No creature deserves that.”

“I’m not sure about that.” 

“I am. And as soon as you tell them what’s going on with First Order or Pioneer Harmony or whoever the fuck they are, it’ll be the beginning.”

“Beginning of what?”

“Atonement. Making amends.” 

“I don’t know if I could ever hope to make amends for all of that in my lifetime.”

“But you’ll try.” Rey’s hand reached for his, and he let her take it. Lacing his fingers with hers, she squeezed his hand. “Promise me you’ll try.”

 _For you: anything,_ he thought. 

“I promise.” There was that smile again, the one that lit up her face and lit up the sphere his world had shrunk to. 

“You know, if you really are feeling better...” She waited for him to nod. “Maybe I could invite some friends over next weekend? I think you’ll really like Rose and Jannah. Only if you’re feeling up to it of course.”

“Maybe,” he said. He wanted to try, for her sake, but interacting briefly and awkwardly with her staff was different than spending an afternoon in the company of her peers.

“Of course,” she agreed. She arched her back, thrusting her arms in the air and letting out a loud yawn. “You sleeping in here tonight?”

The Lust was still mute, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way, not when he was lying next to her and letting his mind wander to the kiss they had shared that afternoon.

“Not tonight.”

If she was disappointed, Rey didn’t show it. But her next utterance was a whisper: “I shouldn’t have done that today. Kissed you, I mean.”

Reaching up, he carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering against the soft curve of her jaw. “Probably not. But...aside from—” He waved his hand and rolled his eyes. “—all that...I didn’t mind it.”

“Really?”

“Really. Kissing _you_ ...is...nice.” _It’ll be even nicer when I get the Lust out of my head._

“Maybe we could try again someday?” she asked, and now her grin was mischievous. 

“Maybe.”

He slept soundly that night, and the next, without threat of bad memories or bad dreams, and Thursday dawned clear and cool. They spent the morning out in the round pen, working on ground manners with two of Rey’s best yearlings. A light lunch followed, and then the appointment was upon them.

When he found himself across from Amilyn this time, he didn’t avoid her eyes.

“Do you think you feel up to answering some questions from Agent Green today?” she repeated, but this time Ben didn’t falter. 

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, there are a few things I need to tell you first.”

Green approached the desk, her interest piqued.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Ben said. Rey’s hand slipped into his, and he felt confident this was the right path — the first step towards a brighter world. And with her at his side, he knew he could take it. 

Green nodded. “Then I’m all ears. Let’s get started.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention when I posted last night that BlissPlus is the name of is the drug from Atwood's Oryx & Crake. I thought borrowing the name was appropriate.


	5. Hux - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well apparently I had a lot to say in this chapter...it clocks in at just over 14,000 words. And yet I couldn't bring myself to break it up, as I feel like it flows well and covers a "complete" arc as it is.
> 
> So pull your chair up to the table: here's a huge helping of Gingerrose angst, with a side of hurt and comfort, followed by a little smut for dessert. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The first night in his new mistress’s house, Armitage Hux tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed for hours before he surrendered to the inevitable and turned the light back on.

It was too quiet, and he could not sleep.

The noises of the city still reached the penthouse at Omni, where he had lived with Phasma— the endless traffic, the people who roamed the streets at night, the suppliers unloading their trucks early in the morning. Over the course of ten years, they had become so integral to his soundscape that now, out here in the suburbs, their absence was deafening. 

Even Millie’s purring, from where she was curled into the backs of his knees, wasn’t enough to send him on a journey to dreamland.

So he sat up and smoothed out the covers on his lap and wondered what the fuck he was going to do now.

The alarm clock on the dresser read 2:24 AM, and even the murmur of the tv from somewhere above his head had disappeared an hour ago. 

The other occupants of the house were dead to the world, and he hated them for it.

He glanced around his meager lodgings. The matching bedroom set: solid maple, but scratched on the surface, it had undoubtedly seen several generations’ use. The particle board bookcase, shoved like an afterthought in a corner. The walls that still smelled faintly of a fresh coat of taupe paint, bare of any decoration. The duvet and the sheets, pulled out of the plastic and put straight onto the bed, scratchy and stiff. 

No doubt Rose had done her best, with her limited means and limited time, to dress up the place.

He had told her it was fine, but it wasn’t.

And now he was sitting there, in a room he did not choose, tired but unable to rest.

He took the cell phone from where he had stowed it in the single drawer of the bedside table, and left Millie sleeping on the bed.

It took a minute to check and make sure there was no alarm system that would trigger when he opened the back door, but he felt foolish for even searching for one afterward. They were in a quiet, long-established cul-de-sac neighborhood only thirty minutes from the city center, but they might as well have been in the middle of nowhere. A simple deadbolt was adequate — anything more would have been pandering to paranoia.

These women didn’t have anything anyone wanted, in any case. 

Including him.

Armitage breathed deep when he stepped into the night air, shutting the door behind him quietly but firmly. He didn’t want to take any chances that Millicent could follow him out here — all it would take was her scarpering over the fence, and no doubt she’d be gone for good. 

The phone screen provided just enough light that he could see the little deck on which he stood, with a cafe-style table and two chairs in one corner, and steps leading down to a patch of grass. Beyond that was a mystery, one he didn’t care to plumb in the middle of the night.

He opened the contacts on the phone.

The first thing that struck him was that Rose had preprogrammed in several numbers: no less than four for her, clearly labeled: personal cell, work cell, hospital information desk, emergency department direct line. One number, reluctantly provided he was sure, for Jannah. Then the AWA contact the rep had plugged in.

The number he dialed, however, was one he knew by heart.

He had wanted to call her immediately after being removed from her home, but they had taken away his phone in the car on the ride to First Order, and hadn’t given it back. 

They should have known, giving him this now, that it would be the first thing he’d try.

He let it ring ten times. Hung up. Dialed again. And again. And again.

On the sixth ring of the fourth call, she finally picked up, huffing into the receiver. “It’s the middle of the _bloody_ night. Who the fuck is this?”

“Phasma, it’s me.” He tried to sound cheerful, and he had a foolish glimmer of hope that she would be happy that he called. 

No such luck. “Oh.” A long, drawn out sigh. “Hello, Armitage. I didn’t expect to hear from you.” The _ever again_ was fully implied, and he winced.

“I know. I’m sorry to wake you but—”

“You do realize I’m violating the terms of the contract termination by taking this call. If First Order gets wind of this...”

“Fuck First Order.” He spat the words with a vehemence he normally reserved for hipsters or people who cut queues. “Fuck them and fuck their stupid contracts. They’ve got me out in the fecking suburbs, Phas. With _two_ women.”

“Two! Well that’ll be a treat for you. Twice the pussy to devour.” She chuckled. “You always were exceptional at that, I must admit.”

She went silent, waiting for the supplication they both knew was coming. He steeled himself, and said the words.

“Please, Phasma. Call them and tell them you’ve changed your mind.”

“But I haven’t, pet.” Phasma’s voice was stern, but had a hint of the old affection. “We both know it was time.”

 _Bullshit._ Armitage had known no such thing. In fact, he’d been coasting for years on the notion that she’d be too sentimental to cut him loose, even when she got bored of him. He’d been her first asset, her first long-term lover. “You said— you said forever. Do you remember?” He certainly did — her holding his hands, whispering soft words. _I’m going to take care of you now, sweet boy. It’ll be you and me, forever._

“I’ve said a lot of things to a lot of different people over the years to get what I wanted. You know that.” She sighed again, drawing this one out just as dramatically, but it was true. He had been privy to her machinations, her duplicitousness. Somehow, stupidly, he had thought he was immune. “You need to just accept that it’s over.” There was a pause, and he thought he could hear the whisper of a voice muffled by fabric, as if she had taken the phone away from her ear. She was with her new lover, then, laughing at him in his desperation.

“She hit me.” Appealing to her nurturing instinct, what little Phasma possessed, was a last resort.

“Oh? Well I’m not sure what you expect me to do about it.”

“I—”

“Call the Welfare Agency, Armitage. Although knowing you, you probably deserved it.” She laughed again, and this time he could clearly hear another, more masculine voice alongside hers. 

“Please. _Please._ Don’t throw away ten years of…” _Whatever it was we had._ He was begging now, but he couldn’t quite master the contrite tone he aimed for. “I...I still love you.” Hoped that, at least, rang true...because in a twisted way, it was. Their attachment had ceased to be romantic years before, but... “You know I don’t care about the other men. I never have.”

“No, darling, you haven’t. If you r _eally_ loved me like you say you do, you would.” He began to sputter out a response, but she cut him off. “Goodbye, Armitage. I’m going to block this number now.”

The line went dead, and all he could do was stand on the deck and stare into the night sky.

He could see the stars, out here, away from the light pollution of the city. But their beauty was little consolation for all he had lost.

 _Enough,_ he thought. _All of that is gone now, and you need to make the best of what you’ve been given._ Even if what he had been given was a pair of women: one an incompatible match, clear from their first meeting; the other a confusing bundle of pain and desire and savage loyalty to those she loved.

The slap _had_ taken him by surprise, and for a moment as he lingered in the chill air, he considered taking Phasma’s advice and dialing the AWA, knowing their lines were always open. In the end, he thought better of it. He didn’t want to be the boy who cried wolf, in case things ever escalated beyond her palm against his cheek.

 _I did deserve it,_ he thought. He had been eager to comfort her after her breakdown, and had underestimated how offended she’d be by a word that had always seemed a petty term to him, but to her was a profound insult.

In spite of everything, Armitage’s lips quirked at the image of Rose — bonny little Rose, with her petite frame, round face and soft doe’s eyes — in all her righteous fury, glaring down at him, frightening and fascinating in equal measures. 

_And though she be but little, she is fierce._ Pretty, too — another surprise. But a welcome one, to see how fetching she was, even when her ire was directed at him. His own Hermia.

Somewhere, among his belongings, _The Norton Shakespeare_ beckoned. He supposed a little light reading would see him through the hours until dawn.

He had learned long ago that he was nothing if not adaptable. And he dared hope that, if he treated her kindly and gave her the child she wanted, Rose’s keen protection — and, perhaps, her love — would one day extend to its father as well. 

**

Unfortunately, it only took one sexual encounter for Armitage to realize his mission to make Rose warm up to him would be more difficult than he anticipated.

She’d spent the entire day leading up to their tryst fluctuating between hot and cold — kind one minute, aloof the next. Jannah, who clearly held more sway over his mistress than he realized, would be an obstacle he’d have to either break through or accept. Neither much appealed to him, but he chose the latter, even suggesting Rose invite the other woman to join them in a ménage à trois, hoping it would put her at ease.

That — like using the word “cunt” to describe her closest friend — had been a grave miscalculation.

Yet he had rallied, coming back from the blunder with determination. She had responded to his touch, had let him fuck her — gently, carefully — but afterwards she had shut him out again. 

Subsequent rendezvous in the following days had gone much the way of the first: the sex satisfying yet detached, then the abrupt dismissal. It baffled Armitage, too, that Rose wouldn’t let him go down on her. In the end, it had been the only thing Phasma had permitted, and he prided himself on his ability. Rose’s reluctance to even let him try to please her that way was disappointing. 

So, too, was the fact that she wouldn’t let him kiss her during sex. Her lips were soft, plump things, begging to be tasted, to be nipped at and coaxed open with his tongue, even as he had already found his way inside her below. 

He had managed to steal a kiss after each tryst, as he was leaving, but it appeared Rose would allow him that and no more. A concession that he had performed the duty for which he had been acquired. 

Payment for services rendered.

In the seventeen years since he had come of age and been designated an asset, he had belonged to three women. The first, an older widow who wanted him for a companion rather than a plaything, had died unexpectedly after twenty-two months. She had been like a second mother to him, and he had missed her terribly. But the second, in her early 40s and more aggressive, had schooled him in all the things he lacked, sexually and otherwise, and he’d been secretly grateful when she’d been caught embezzling from her workplace and had all her assets — him included — seized. Then Phasma had come along, plucked him from obscurity at age 25, and folded him, seamless, into her shiny high-class world. This time, he’d thought, it was love — it would last.

And yet here he was, on woman number four, and he’d never felt more like a whore than when leaving Rose’s room at night, banished from her presence.

 _Who hurt you?_ he wondered, in the brief post-coital moments before she pushed him away, and he could look into her deep brown eyes. _Who would dare?_

All he knew of her past was what the First Order rep had told him. _Poor thing, her sister died and the asset they shared ended up not working out, and she’s been alone since._

Except Rose wasn’t alone — she had a partner, even if it was platonic. Which left him wondering what else in those brief statements had been a lie, or an oversimplification. 

What exactly, regarding the other asset, hadn’t worked out?

He was too afraid to ask her directly, to dredge up things that would make her cry again, like she had that first night, slumping to the floor.

But there were hints, scattered throughout her inconsistent mannerisms. The way she looked through him sometimes, during sex and otherwise, as if she were imagining someone else in his place. The way she’d smile and start to say something, then realize she was talking to him and not this enigmatic other man, the one who had come before. Always, afterward, she’d be more subdued. Colder, as if it made her angry that she’d been given him in an unfair exchange. A poor substitute for what she _really_ wanted.

And then, one day, while she was sleeping off her night shift upstairs and Jannah was gone into the city, he found the photograph.

It had fallen between the drawers of the dresser and become lodged along the slats in the back, stuck so that Armitage had to risk tearing it to wrench it free. Overexposed, with a bloom along the edges. Some weird effect from Instagram perhaps, which didn’t lend itself to print.

In the center was a woman who looked a little like Rose. Older, with a thinner face and more refined features, but with the same eyes. _The sister._ Rose was on her left, mouth stretched wide in a smile that was halfway a laugh. And opposite Rose…

 _So that’s him then,_ Armitage thought. A dark-skinned young man whose smile was possibly brighter even than Rose’s. He had one arm around both of the women, the tips of his fingers visible against Rose’s bare shoulder. His other hand rested on the sister’s stomach, which, if Armitage wasn’t mistaken, was beginning to swell outward. 

The First Order caseworkers had failed to mention _that_ particular tidbit. 

They had all looked so relaxed and happy. A little family, about to grow by one. Then tragedy, the triad split asunder. And where was the baby now?

In the ground with its mother, he knew.

With a shudder, he tucked the photo back where he had found it.

He would just have to try harder, that was all. Someday, somehow, Rose would let him in.

But the hope he had felt that first night, staring up at the stars, was beginning to dim.

**

Over the weeks since his arrival, he and Jannah had come to a tenuous truce. Neither spoke to the other unless it was absolutely necessary. Rose loved Jannah and Rose needed him, and so it seemed better if they got along, even if it was only on the surface.

So the fact that she appeared one night, knocking on his door frame at 10 PM, when Rose was already at the hospital, should have been a tell.

She _needed_ something. 

He’d been wrong to insult her taste level; he knew that now, regarding her as she stood in his doorway, clad in a well-tailored seafoam green pantsuit that contrasted nicely with her rich brown skin. The suit was rayon, not silk — too expensive — but she’d get there someday. Jannah was on her way up the corporate ladder, and Hux begrudgingly admired her tenacity, dressing up on days she didn’t even leave the house, and still managing to show her sense of style.

“So.” She clapped her hands together. “I’m off to London for two weeks to oversee the final transfer in this bloody merger. Cross the t’s and dot the i’s, so to speak. And then I thought I’d head to Paris for a few days and see an acquaintance.”

Armitage didn’t know how to respond to this sudden influx of words from her, so he just waited for her to get to the part where she asked for the favor.

“And it would be great if, while I’m gone, you could keep an eye on Rosie.”

“Keep an eye on her?” He cocked his eyebrow. “She’s a grown woman, and, I’d imagine, quite capable of taking care of herself.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Jannah sighed. “You haven’t seen her like I have. She’s been doing well for the past few months, but she tends to have relapses right around the major dates...holidays, birthdays...the anniversary.”

“Anniversary?”

“Of her sister’s death. May 23rd. Next week.” She seemed surprised. “Didn’t they tell you?”

“Yes, but—” He wasn’t sure whether he should ask Jannah to elaborate, or if she would even divulge that information. The photograph still haunted him.

But she was still talking, so it didn’t matter. “—and she’s been more stressed than usual lately with...everything. I wouldn’t go to London, but this is my pet project and I have a lot on the line if it goes south. And now she has you, so…”

 _She has me and she loathes me,_ he thought, but he kept it to himself. Still, hovering over his mistress like an overprotective nanny didn’t seem like the best way to get in her good graces, were that even possible. As time passed, it seemed more and more futile. If he came into a room, she’d vacate it within minutes. She barely spoke to him beyond the basic benign greetings and inquiries: _Hey_ or _Morning. Do you need anything from the store? This is what’s for dinner tonight._

“I’m not sure I would realize if there was a problem,” he admitted.

“Trust me, you’ll be able to tell. She gets snappy first. Then, this hollow-eyed look, like a ghost. Barely speaks, barely eats...unless she’s binging. She might call in sick to work, which is a huge red flag.”

“She might just be tired and need a holiday…” God knew he’d be exhausted if he spent twelve-plus hours rushing around an emergency room. He’d watched her struggle to stay awake through the day for three Saturdays now, in order to resume a more normal sleep schedule, and didn’t envy her in the slightest. 

But Jannah had an answer for that too. “Rose loves working at the hospital. She _never_ misses a shift.”

“Okay, so...playing hooky, either eating too much...or too little...and looking...sad?”

“Sure.”

“Jannah, I—”

“Look, we both know you and I aren’t ever going to be chums, but I would _really_ appreciate it if you could do this. Not for me, but for Rose.” 

Armitage weighed his options: refuse and risk her wrath, or acquiesce and go back to his quiet evening. Millie rubbed along Jannah’s leg on her way into the room, then hopped onto the bed and flopped onto her side, trying to capture her attention, but the woman made no move to cross the threshold. 

He nodded, reaching out to run his hand over Milicent’s fur. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” She looked relieved. “I’m sure everything will be fine. She’ll be fine.” She glanced quickly around the room. “I’ll let you get back to...whatever it was you were doing.”

She pulled the door shut behind her, even though it had been open, to let the cat come and go as she pleased. Boxing him up, so he couldn’t intrude on the rest of her evening.

“It’s all right,” he muttered to his companion, “We still have each other, don’t we, Millicent?”

She mewed loudly, then promptly went to the door to be let back out.

** 

Jannah had been gone for four days when Rose started to spiral. The signs were exactly as her friend had stated.

She’d come home late Saturday morning with bags under her eyes. Bristled when he’d asked with trepidation if she’d had a bad night.

“Yeah, you could say that. Yeah, umm, fifteen car pileup on the interstate. Four dead, six critically injured. Don’t you watch the damn news?” Glared at him until he’d looked down at his lap. He stayed that way until she had stomped up the stairs and slammed her door.

He’d avoided her for hours after that, settling on the deck in the warm mid-morning sunshine with a cup of tea and his battered copy of _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest._ It had been several years since he’d read it, and soon he was too absorbed in the narrative to notice when Rose stepped outside.

He’d almost dropped his mug when she’d cleared her throat.

“Hey. I’m, umm, I’m making a sandwich,” she offered. “Do you want anything?”

It seemed like it was the only apology he could expect.

“Yes, thank you.”

But when they’d sat down to eat: he at the counter, she in front of the television, she’d taken one bite and then abandoned the salami and provolone until Millie, nosy thing that she was, decided to investigate.

At least that had made her laugh, the cat batting at her sandwich, and she’d asked politely if she could feed her a piece of meat before dumping the rest, untouched, in the garbage.

When he’d gone to her door at nine, which had become their customary meeting time, he’d found it locked.

“I’m— I’m not feeling well. Do you mind if we skip tonight?”

“Not at all.”

But late that night, battling his insomnia, he’d heard noises from the kitchen and, fearing that Millicent was making mischief, poked his head out to find Rose standing with the fridge open, shoveling leftover pizza from dinner — which she had barely touched at the time — into her mouth.

“Umm, hey,” she managed, between bites. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Wasn’t asleep,” he said, but she gave no indication she’d heard him.

“—I was just ravenous all of a sudden...did you want a slice?”

“No thank you.” Couldn’t stop himself from pushing further: “Won’t that give you heartburn, eating it in the middle of the night?” 

“Maybe. Don’t much care at the moment,” she said, her mouth settling in a frown. “Not really any of your business, is it?”

He’d retreated before he pissed her off even more.

The next three days that she was home were more of the same. He’d anger her, somehow, and he’d find himself hiding — in his room, on the deck, even in the laundry at one point — only for Rose to extend an olive branch, usually around a meal. But then the cycle would start over again.

Armitage, becoming more frustrated by the minute, had even steeled himself and called Jannah Monday afternoon. Her response to his worry had been what he’d expected.

“Can you just deal with it? I’ve got about a thousand fires to put out. I’ll be back on the 30th, okay?” And she’d disconnected.

That night, after a tense dinner where Rose had accused him of forgetting to clean Millie’s litter box, (he’d done it that morning), he almost didn’t go upstairs at nine to spite her. But it wouldn’t have mattered. 

“Rose, are you well?” he asked, through the solid pine door that separated them, when she begged off sex for the third time in a row. “Are—are you menstruating?” If she was, that might have provided an alternate explanation for why she’d been so touchy for the past half a week.

Touchy, and disappointed, too, that their lovemaking had been for naught.

“No,” she growled. “I’m fine. I just—” Something in her voice hitched. 

He was failing his job of keeping her safe. But how could he help her, stuck out here?

He could tell she was just inches from the door on her side. Considered, for a minute, what she would do if he were to try to force his way through.

“I’m—I’m going to bed,” she called after a few tense moments. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

“All right.” Stepped away, only to turn on his heel, pressed one hand to the door. “Rose. You know I’m here. I’m here if you need me.”

No response.

Armitage tossed and turned the hours away in the bed that still didn’t feel right. It was only after he heard her come down to the kitchen, probably after another late night snack, that he finally drifted off. 

**

Tuesday, the 23rd of May, dawned warm, and the thermometer hanging in the kitchen window had hit eighty degrees by ten.

Compared to the lethargy of her previous days off, Rose spent most of the morning cleaning furiously, refusing his help when he offered it. 

When she finally put down the dust rag, two hours later, she looked a wreck, sweaty and flustered and her sleek black hair falling out of the pony tail. 

_A lovely wreck, though._ From his perch at the kitchen counter, where he was perusing the newspaper, he watched her wipe the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand, and felt flustered himself. They hadn’t slept together for a week and his desire was starting to leech into his thoughts too often. 

Out of nowhere, she turned to him and blurted: “Let’s go out.”

“What?”

“Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere.” She ran a finger over the surface of the tv stand she had just dusted. “I can’t...I just can’t be here right now.”

Armitage, surprised by this turn of events, wanted to agree, but hesitated. “Is it safe?”

Her response — a cocked eyebrow, like ‘Are you for real?’ — made him feel dumb. “Why wouldn't it be?”

He was too used to going out with Phasma, surrounded by security. But she had always been the draw, not him, in spite of his status as one of only three hundred registered assets in the city and the surrounding area.

“I don’t know.” _Stop worrying, idiot._

“Then I’m going to shower quickly and we’ll go.” 

He felt foolish, again, upon stepping out onto the front porch, realizing he hadn’t left the house since he’d arrived.

“You coming?” Rose must have realized the same thing: her face softened. “Don’t worry. You’re with me, okay?”

They walked three blocks side by side to the nearest bus stop, he in his button-down and slacks, and she — considerably cooler, he imagined — in a tank top and a pair of shorts. He had seen her naked a dozen times now when they fucked, but the sight of a drop of sweat, beading down the skin between her breasts as they stood in the shade, made his heart beat faster.

When the bus arrived, she paid their way and led him to the back, directly under an air vent. Armitage happened to look up and see the driver gawking, wide-eyed, in the rearview mirror. After a few seconds’ delay, the bus jerked away from the curb. 

At every stop he found himself tensing up next to his mistress, who rolled her eyes. A few older women boarded and sat near the front. One even stared for a moment, then shook her head and flicked her hand at them in dismissal, as if she didn’t actually believe what she was seeing.

“I don’t know if this was a good idea.” They were pulling up to a busy intersection now, and a shelter that looked full.

“Seriously, Hux, I appreciate that you were willing to come with me, but you need to calm down. It’s the middle of a weekday and—”

Opening with a hiss, the doors let in a rush of hot air and seven women. Two of them sat quickly, uninterested. 

The others, clearly a flock, flying together, headed towards the back. Towards them. 

The woman in front of the line, in her twenties by his quick assessment and sporting tightly braided blond cornrows, did a double take, halting in her tracks. 

“Look here ladies, we got a live one!”

“Oh no, no, no,” he murmured, his shoulders rounding, his head dipping lower, but he felt Rose’s breath on his ear as she leaned in.

Her whisper sent a current through his body. “Relax.” She touched him, then, sliding her hand along his chest and under the collar of his shirt. “Trust me.” But it was hard to think straight when she brought her mouth to the pulse point on his throat, a very public display for the curious audience closing in.

“Damn, girl,” the leader drawled, shoving one of her minions into the seat directly in front of them as she settled in herself, gaping openly. “You got yourself a fine piece there.”

“Thank you,” Rose purred. “He is, isn’t he?”

Armitage kept his eyes downcast, but in his periphery he could detect the group assessing him from head to toe. They were younger than Rose: college students maybe, although none of them looked — or sounded — the type. A lifetime ago, he and his kind wouldn’t have found them threatening in the least. But now...

One of the women, sitting across the aisle, jerked her chin at his companion. “You must be a real rich lady, afford a man like that.”

Rose shook her head. “I’m a nurse, actually. Memorial North ER.”

“Shit, no kidding!” Another, sporting an assortment of piercings on her thin face, piped up. “I got a sister who works there. Carol Kinney. You know her?”

Rose hesitated just the right amount of time to feign recollecting — except it seemed she was being sincere. _Of course she is_. “I think maybe I do. Works the day shift? She and her partner just got married?”

“Yeah! That’s her.”

“She’s always so friendly. Hard worker, too, from what I’ve seen. Keeping an exam room up to hospital standards isn’t easy, and she does it every day!”

The woman smiled wide, pleased to hear praise for her sibling. 

Suddenly he felt something brush against his temple. He shied against Rose’s body, gritting his teeth as she tensed and dug her fingernails into the skin at his collarbone for a brief moment. When her hold on him loosened again, she turned on their new acquaintances with a tight smile.

“Hey now, ladies,” she warned, her tone jovial but her eyes sparkling with violence. “You can look, but don’t touch.”

“Yeah, what the fuck, Syl. We respect other womens’ property,” the leader chastised, giving her companion a swat. 

“Sorry Grace,” Syl mumbled, pulling her hand back. “It’s just so pretty. His hair, I mean. I ain’t never seen a redheaded one before.”

Sliding her hand up his neck and into the fine strands at his nape, Rose agreed. “You should see it in the sunlight. Like fire.”

All the women hummed in appreciation, simultaneously, imagining.

“How’d you afford him on your own, then?” The leader — Grace — asked, narrowing her eyes, after a moment of pause. “Nurses make money, honey, but not _that_ much money.” 

“I’m actually part of a dyad. We’re trying to have a baby.” A chorus of “awws” followed.

“Yeah? My sister and her lady, too.” The one with the piercings leaned forward, dropped her voice. “They had to go... _underground,_ though.”

“Ah. I hope they’re careful. Sometimes it works out okay...sometimes it doesn’t. Make sure they do their homework.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice. I said to her, you got to get yourself a _real_ man. Safer. But she and Marlie could never afford First Order prices. Besides, they don’t swing that way.” 

One of the women, one who had yet to speak up, let out an uproarious laugh, lifted her fingers in a V to her mouth and waggled her tongue between them, and the others joined in.

Rose chuckled along, and Armitage found himself wondering just who this mysterious woman sitting next to him was, as she didn’t seem to be from the same planet as the Rose he knew.

 _You are kidding yourself. It’s been less than a month. You don’t_ know _her._

“You ain’t like Candy’s sister,” Syl observed, as Rose let her thumb circle on the bare skin of his neck, nudging his cheek from the other side with her nose, like she was well on her way to coaxing a kiss out of him, in spite of the spectators. On instinct he turned his face in towards hers, only to have her pull away to answer.

“Nah. My partner and I are good friends, but just friends. I’m much more interested in what I’ve got right here.”

“Damn skippy,” Grace grunted, clearly wishing she was in Rose’s place.

The bus slowed, the sound of the airbrake signaling the next stop. The group of women stood.

Grace offered her hand and Rose smiled and shook it. “Y’all going to Church Street, to the galleria?”

“Mmhmm.” 

“Take care, then. Not everyone gonna be as friendly as we are, sugar.” She winked. “Nice to meet ya.”

“Likewise.” To Candy, she added: “Tell your sister that Rose said hello.”

“Will do.”

Grace gave Rose a final nod, and him a final quietly hissed _damn_ of appreciation before leading the way down the aisle. Syl was the last to go, giving an awkward wave and scurrying to catch up.

Armitage felt like he hadn’t breathed through the whole encounter. _Jesus Christ._ “I never pegged you for an exhibitionist,” he said, after the bus had resumed its journey and his heartbeat had slowed somewhat.

Rose shrugged. “I was acting. A skill you’re very familiar with, I’m sure.”

“Hmmm?” He frowned. “I don’t see how—”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “They’re just people, Armitage.”

 _Scary people,_ he wanted to say, but he knew she’d take it the wrong way. 

Still, she seemed to anticipate his train of thought. “Every shift at the hospital I have to deal with all kinds. They tend to respond better when you try to relate, when you treat them like actual human beings...not, you know, garbage. But I get it. You’re not in your ivory tower any more, _baby,_ ” Rose said, and his breath caught in his throat at the word. “You’re down here with us common folk. You’re gonna turn heads. I just struck first.” When he didn’t respond, she pressed further. “Come on. How do you think they would have reacted if we’d both been stuttering and nervous and fearful?” She tugged on his collar, smoothing it out where she had wrinkled it. “How do most predators respond to cowering prey? Do they leave it alone?”

“No.”

“No. They attack. So I made sure they knew I wasn’t easy prey. If I made you uncomfortable, well...it was just for show.”

 _Pity._ She had yet to slide away from him on the seat and he felt emboldened by her proximity, her touch. “I understand. However — and I’ll wager you can’t imagine things being any other way — I’m old enough to remember what it was like _before_ the plague. It used to be dangerous for women in this world. _We_ were the predators.”

“So the history books say. Women afraid of walking alone at night. Assholes like the ones behind Final Order like to preach that civilization crashed and burned without the other sex here to keep us in check, but guess what? It just. Kept. Going. Some would say it got a great deal better. Some would say the plague did us a favor.” 

“Perhaps.” _And it wasn’t just at night._ He recalled, with awful clarity, being a scrawny thirteen-year-old, witnessing a burly man harass a female schoolmate as they commuted back to their neighborhood, and feeling powerless to stop it. “But you’re telling me, if the roles were reversed — if it was you in my place and I in yours — that you’d expect me to disregard your safety _for show_?” 

“Christ, they were harmless!” She gave him a sly look. “Is that what you would do, then? If I belonged to you? Snarl and snap like some beast any time another man came near me?”

“Yes.” His response was immediate, and she blinked in surprise. “Even better: I’d put you in that ivory tower, love, under lock and key.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head. “You misunderstand me — I’d not do it out of malice, Rose, but...because I’d be terrified some other man would try to take you from me.”

“Wow. I’m not a thing that someone could take away! I’m a human being and—” She stopped short, her eyes widening. 

“So am I,” he reminded her. “And yet here we are.”

She shook her head. “That’s different. They created the asset designation for your own protection—” Once again she stopped, her brow wrinkling. She turned her gaze up at him now, soft, and he took the opportunity to reach and run his thumb over her jaw while she was still close enough to touch.

“So protect what’s yours, Rose. Because I am. Yours.”

It was his turn, then, to bring his face to hers, his long nose brushing against her blunt one, his forehead coming to rest against her forehead. Lips only inches apart. Iif he were to tip her chin up, the way he always did as he left her after sex, he could kiss her now. 

She turned her head away.

“See?” she asked, the venom back in her voice. “Acting.”

“Rose, I’m not—”

She lurched to her feet and out of his grasp. The bus was slowing to a crawl. “We’re here.”

Disembarking, they found themselves at the entrance of Church Street, a blocks-long area closed off for pedestrian traffic only, lined with stores of every variety on all sides. At the apex of the central plaza was a carousel, spilling tinny music across the space as it rotated. 

He’d never been here. He’d always (secretly) wanted to go, but Phasma wouldn’t have been caught dead strolling through the throngs of people, window shopping and eating food from the vendors whose carts created pockets of clutter in the flow of foot traffic.

“C’mon,” Rose prodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand in hers.

They spent the better part of an hour weaving leisurely through the crowd, and Armitage let her tug him along, responding to the ebb and flow of her motion with as much intuition as he could muster. He wasn’t clumsy, but neither was she consistent: she’d come to a stop abruptly sometimes, slow to a crawl others.

But she didn’t let go of his hand, even as the sun crept higher in the sky and their palms became slick with sweat.

Oddly, other than a few glances and whispers, the women milling about Church Street didn’t appear to be all that interested in his presence among them. As they neared the central plaza, Armitage quickly discerned why. He wasn’t alone.

They had halted to join a queue for lemonade, and even though he wasn’t a huge fan of anything sweet, he was looking forward to quenching his thirst. Rose had released him, digging into her purse for money, when he saw a man across the way, walking alongside a woman and a child. 

No, he realized — not one man. _Two._ The other was following close behind, pushing a stroller. For a moment he thought they belonged to two separate groups, but then the woman and her daughter turned around and laughed at something the man with the stroller said.

Armitage almost raised his hand to point at them, like a child would, except Rose was shoving a plastic cup into one and guiding him out of the way of the next customers with the other.

“You okay? You’re white as a sheet. Which, I mean, isn’t a huge change for you.” She laughed at her own joke. “Is the heat getting to you?” 

Rose directed him to a bench under a nearby tree, which provided the barest approximation of shade. Better than nothing, though, as he sank down, taking a long gulp of the drink. It was thankfully a good middle ground between sweet and sour.

“I thought I saw…” But the men had melted into the crowd. “...someone.”

She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just sat sipping her lemonade. Then: “Sometimes I see them, too. People that are gone. My mom. Paige.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that wasn’t what he meant, not when she was on the verge of opening up.

“This was the day she died.”

“I know,” he said gently. “Jannah told me.” 

She nodded. “I figured that’s why you’ve been so...quiet...all week. Not that you aren’t always quiet.” She looked down at the cup in her hands, already half empty. “Last year was...rough. Even with her around. So I appreciate you being willing to step up.”

“Of course.”

“I know I’ve been an absolute monster these past few days—”

“You’re hurting. I remember what it felt like.”

“Oh. I didn’t…” She fiddled with the flimsy label on the cup, peeling it back millimeter by millimeter. “Who was it for you?”

“My mother. She died when I was seventeen. It wasn’t sudden,” he clarified. “Brain cancer. But it _was_ sudden. How could it not be? One day she was there, the next she...wasn’t.”

 _You haven’t talked about Mum in years,_ he thought. Not since Phasma had first acquired him and they were in the honeymoon phase — late night post-coital cuddling and conversation. Secrets and confessions and hopes and dreams. In retrospect, that part of their relationship hadn’t lasted long. Yet he still remembered the feeling, being that close to someone.

Rose was watching him intently, tears brimming in her brown eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know _exactly_ what you mean. My mom had cirrhosis. She was a good mom, but I guess she started hitting the bottle hard after my dad died, and didn’t stop. It took years to kill her, and we didn’t know until it was too late. But it was still such a shock waking up that morning after, her being just...gone.” 

Back to silence then, as they drained the rest of their drinks and thought about their own losses.

“I keep thinking it’ll get better. And I guess it has, in regards to my mom. But then Paige—” She took a shuddering breath, bit her wobbling lip. Stared off into the distance, even as he put his hand on her knee. “Hey,” she sniffed, recovering. “Let’s go look at the carousel.”

So he let her take his hand and lead him, again, where she wanted to go.

The contraption spun slowly enough that the women gathered around it could snap pictures of their children as they glided by. He and Rose slipped into a gap between the doting mothers. The usual assortment of wooden horses pranced around their circuit, along with a rabbit, a swan and a dalmatian.

“We used to come here almost every weekend when I was little,” Rose said. “Go round and round until Mom got impatient.” She swiped at her tear-stained cheeks and mustered a smile, waving to the kids. Some of them even waved back. 

“It does look like they are having fun,” he conceded, wincing as one little girl let out an ear-piercing squeal of delight. 

“Armitage?” Her voice had dropped to a murmur, and he had to bend his head low to hear her over the din. “I—I haven’t gotten my period yet. I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but I keep thinking, maybe…” 

“Maybe,” he offered, squeezing her hand.

Another few rotations of the carousel, and Rose turned from the spectacle. “Think I’m ready to go home now.” 

“All right.” _Whither thou goest, I shall go._ Not that he had a choice, but he found he didn’t mind.

They hadn’t stepped three feet, however, before Rose rocked to a stop and Armitage collided with her. She turned in his grasp as he used her body to steady himself, pure terror skewing her pretty features. 

“Rose, you’re shaking.” He could feel her shoulders tremble beneath his touch, and he pulled her closer on instinct. Moved one hand to the back of her neck, stroking. “What’s the matter?”

It was selfish to enjoy the feel her body pressed against his, her arms trapped between them, hands on his chest, but he couldn’t help it. _I’ve got you,_ he thought.

“That’s him. Finn.” Her voice was a choked whisper. “I haven’t seen him in two years.” 

There was only one person in the world who Armitage imagined could make Rose react like this: her former lover, the asset who hadn’t worked out.

Across the plaza, the pair of men he had spotted earlier had reappeared. One had black wavy hair and an olive complexion, and was all smiles; the other had ebony skin and an easy laugh that carried across the distance. Now that he could see his face clearly, he recognized the man from the photograph stuck in the dresser. _Finn_. The woman trailed behind them now, holding the hand of a little girl with a mop of dark hair. She skipped along, dragging on the woman’s arm, trying to catch up to the men. 

And there was the stroller, too, no doubt conveying a bouncing babe. Two men...two children. _What gave this woman the right,_ he wondered, _to have such a bounty of both?_

It was no surprise Rose was desperate to avoid them: the man she still wasn’t entirely over, compounded with this blatant display of fertility. He’d seen the way she’d looked at the children on the carousel, with a visceral longing that was like a punch to the gut. And here was evidence of her failure, strolling along happily. 

Once upon a time, they would have called the other man her ex, and her reaction might not have been as strong when seeing him across a crowded square. They might have even joked about it, he and her, upon running into each other, while Armitage tightened his arm around her shoulders, telegraphing his position as her new beau. _Fancy meeting you here_ , they’d say. Their smiles might be strained. They might not.

But Rose cowered against him, peering around his arm. “Don’t let them see me,” she pleaded, turning into his embrace. “ _Please_ don’t let them see me.” It was unclear whether she was talking to him or to some unknown entity of chance, in the hopes it would listen.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Let’s just walk back.” Shifted, trying to maneuver her the way they had come, towards the bus stop, but at that moment the family started to cut across the plaza, and Rose was left exposed. She froze in place. So did the others, when they saw her.

“Rose? Is that you?” 

Armitage was surprised by the fondness in Finn’s voice. 

Suddenly Rose was pushing herself away from him, was attempting to disengage his arms, like she was embarrassed.

 _No,_ he thought. _You don’t get to pretend this isn’t what it is._

He let her slip from his embrace, but instead tucked an arm around her shoulder blades, just like in his daydream, letting his fingers trail against the bare skin of her upper arm. She shivered against him in spite of the heat.

“Umm, hey...everyone!” she exclaimed, her voice ringing falsely cheerful. “Long time no see.” Laughed, every note strained. She fixated on Finn, who had stooped to pluck the baby from the carriage. It wasn’t until both Armitage and the other man cleared their throats almost in sync that she tore her gaze away from him.

“Right. This is—”

“Armitage,” he said, offering his hand to the other man, who took it and gave it a hearty shake.

“Poe.” 

“Hello. I’m—”

“He’s...umm...” Rose cut in, but then seemed reluctant to finish the thought. 

It was Finn who made the next move. “Hey, nice to meet you,” he said, balancing the babbling baby on his hip while offering his own hand to shake. “I’m Finn.” Tipped his head towards the woman, who had been pulled off course by her daughter, intent on the ice cream vendor who had set up his cart nearby. “That’s Zorii and Amelia. And this,” he said, his voice morphing into the cutesy tone one often employed with children, “Is Shara.” He tickled the little girl’s sides, and she displayed a wide grin with one white tooth jutting up from her lower gum.

“After my mother,” Poe offered, and Rose nodded, seeming to understand the significance.

“She’s beautiful,” she breathed. Then she shifted forward, towards Finn and the baby, and for a fraction of a second Armitage tightened his grip on her arm. But she was already taking a step, and he had to let her go or risk appearing as if he was holding her back.

Which he was, of course, and he didn’t miss the uneasy glance Poe threw at Finn when Rose reached for the baby.

“Could I hold her? For just a minute?” Rose was asking, her arms outstretched, empty, and he could hear the barely disguised desperation in her voice.

“Umm” Finn began, but another voice cut him off.

“Let her.” Zorii and Amelia had joined them, the little girl bouncing in place as she licked a vanilla scoop precariously balanced in the cup of a waffle cone. “It’s just Rosie. It’s fine.” Her demeanor was effortlessly nonchalant, her eyes sliding over him and away without any concern — someone who knew their place in the world and didn’t expect the status quo to be upset any time soon.

So Finn handed Shara to Rose, who took the child’s weight with shaking hands. Armitage couldn’t help but reach out and place his palm on her back, where he could feel the shuddering exhale of her breath.

But the transformation, once she had the baby in her grasp, was immediate — all her nervous energy was channeled and calmed, and her body, under his touch, was still. Shara reached out with a tiny, chubby hand and tugged on a lock of Rose’s hair that was hanging within reach. Rose laughed. “Look at you. You’re just stunning aren’t you? Such a pretty little thing.” Even as she gently disengaged the little one’s grip, substituting a finger for her hair, Rose grinned. “Strong too!”

And then she turned the brilliant beam of her smile upon him, and it was he, suddenly, who was trembling.

She craved this so badly — the child, the family — and Armitage wanted nothing more in that moment than to be the one to give it to her.

“How have you been, Rose?” Zorii was studying the other woman, also smiling, but the controlled, tight-lipped one she wore was the opposite of Rose’s pure joy. “I ran into Jannah a few months ago in the city. She said you were doing...better.”

“Oh, you did? She never said. But yeah,” Rose agreed. “Better, sure. I’ve been working a lot.” She was making faces at Shara now, and the baby was cooperating spectacularly, shrieking and giggling at every grimace.

“And you’ve clearly been shopping.” Zorii said, looking Armitage over more thoroughly. “You look...familiar.”

“I… Perhaps you...” He wasn’t sure how much Rose would want them to know about their situation, but she just shrugged and let the truth rattle off her tongue, not even bothering to look up.

“He belonged to Phasma. You know, Argyros. The heiress. Now...”

 _I’m yours_ , he thought. He rubbed his hand back and forth across her lower back, and was grateful when she didn’t pull away from the caress.

Poe whistled low, and Finn blinked in surprise. Zorii only smirked. “Thought so. Must be quite a change.”

He smiled. “Quite.”

Rose, between bouncing Shara and making more faces, asked: “So...what are you all doing back here? I thought you were teaching at Northwestern…”

“Oh, they send me where they need me,” Zorii said. “Right now it’s the good old University of Louisville. Might end up in Phoenix by fall, if the word coming down the pipeline is true.”

“Arizona!” Rose exclaimed. “Won’t that be exciting?” Once again Armitage could detect the barely disguised desperation in her voice. Having them back here made her anxious: she wished they’d go away again. _Out of sight, out of mind._ Except that hadn’t seemed to work out all that well for her either.

“Not really,” Poe griped. “The damn desert is boring and hot.”

“Can’t be any worse than this sticky heat,” Finn added.

Shara began to fuss, and Rose’s face fell. “Oh no, did I upset her?”

“Nah,” Finn laughed, patting the baby on the bum. “I think little miss is just ready for a change.” He pulled Shara out of Rose’s arms, who held on just a little too long. They all pretended not to notice.

“Can we go on the carousel, Mommy?” Amelia was asking, letting Poe steal the rest of her ice cream cone without complaint. 

Zorii sighed. “Mommy’s beat, kiddo. Why don’t you ask Miss Rose if she’ll take you?”

The little girl turned to Rose with pleading eyes. “Miss Rose, can we?”

“Yes! Let’s go, sweetie.” Rose extended her hand and Amelia grabbed it without hesitation. They looked on as Rose carefully guided the girl over to the entrance. The midday crowd had begun to thin out, and soon they were perched on their mounts — Amelia on the rabbit, Rose on a dapple grey steed — waving as they passed.

Finn and Zorii were occupied with changing the baby, and he himself was so caught up in watching Rose that he hadn’t noticed Poe standing next to him until he spoke.

“How long have you been with her?” He took a bite of the waffle cone and some ice cream dribbled down his chin. Wiped it off with the back of his hand and waited with raised eyebrows for Armitage to answer the question.

“Just under a month.”

“Hasn’t mentioned us, I take it?”

“Can’t say she has.”

“We used to all live together. Zorii and Paige knew each other from the University, and when Zorii got recruited to come back and teach here temporarily, Paige offered to let us crash with her and Rose. Big house, plenty of room. Was starting to get a little crowded towards the end, but then the accident happened and we stayed because...well, we stayed for a lot of reasons.” He took a moment to finish consuming the cone, smacking his lips. “How much do you know about what happened two years ago? After Paige died?”

Armitage wasn’t sure he liked the direction this conversation was headed. “I—not much. But—”

Poe cut him off. “She tried to kill herself.”

“No.” He said it without thinking, because it seemed unfathomable. 

But Poe continued, not bothering to lower his voice. “She did. About a month after Finn left with me and Zorii. Poor kid. She couldn’t handle everything that was happening, but we couldn’t stay in that house any longer, not with Amelia to think about, too. She wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t compromise. Was drinking almost nonstop. Would have held Finn hostage forever, just to have something to cling to.” Poe swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. “She called him bawling, making threats. She was drunk. We didn’t take it seriously, but she was serious all right. Chased half a bottle of diazepam with a fifth of vodka.” He crossed his arms. “She was lucky Jannah found her before it was too late, got her to the hospital. She was in there for almost a month. Could have lost her nursing license.”

“Jesus Christ. Why are you telling me all this?” he hissed. 

“Because you deserve to know, and she’s probably too ashamed to tell you.” Poe gestured to where she and Amelia were still making their slow revolutions around the carousel. “Seeing her out here, in the world, smiling, is great. Really is. But seeing her with a new asset is even better.” He wadded up the paper that had been wrapped around the ice cream cone and shot for the nearby trash can. Sunk it with ease. “She’s a good girl. A smart girl. She just got stupid for awhile.” He suddenly clapped Armitage on the shoulder. “I’m glad she’s got you.”

It was the same turn of phrase Jannah had used, but it wasn’t much comfort. “I don’t know if my presence in her life is helping much.” In fact, up until that day, he’d been quite certain he’ been making things worse. 

“Are you fucking her?”

In spite of the blunt manner of the question, Armitage didn’t see any point in skirting around the truth, considering the bomb Poe had just dropped. “Yes.”

“You put a baby in her belly, that’ll be the best help you can give her.” Poe motioned to Zorii, who was lifting Shara into the air, blowing a raspberry on her little round stomach. “We were childhood sweethearts. When my parents died, her mom became my guardian. Then Zorii took custody of me when we came of age. We’ve been just friends for years, but I was happy to do that one thing for her. Well, that _one_ thing _twice_ now.” He chuckled. “She swears she doesn’t want any more kids, but if she does, I’m willing. They’re amazing, and it’s the least I can do, now that I have Finn.” 

There was something that traveled between Poe and Finn when they looked at each other just then that Armitage, had he been paying better attention, would have caught earlier.

Admiration. Adoration. _Heat._

 _Well that would explain it, then._ _Rose’s sister died...and the asset they shared ended up not working out._ Armitage supposed falling in love with another man — true, heart-rending, soul-shattering love — was a justifiable reason for Finn to want to leave his mistress. 

She had loved him. He had loved someone else.

There were still pieces missing from the puzzle, but the picture was clearer now.

“Thanks, I suppose,” he muttered to Poe, “for enlightening me.”

“I’d want to know, if I were in your shoes. Like I said, she’s a good person. She’ll be an excellent mother, that’s clear.” She was bringing Poe & Zorii’s daughter back to them now, skipping along with the little girl like an oversized child. Normally, Armitage would have found a grown woman acting so foolish irritating, but with Rose the silliness was endearing. She tried _so_ hard.

“And we’re back,” Rose laughed, out of breath. “What’d we miss?”

“Nothing at all, darling,” Poe claimed, back to smiling. “Nothing at all.”

“Daddy, I want to go again!” Amelia pleaded, grabbing her father’s arm and pulling. Instead of letting her drag him down, Poe easily lifted the girl into the air and let her hang there until she dropped of her own accord, giggling. “Can Miss Rose take me again?”

“We’ve got to go, darling. Mommy has a class to teach tonight, so that means…”

“Movie night!” Amelia squealed. “I want to watch _Minions_.”

“She _always_ wants to watch _Minions,_ and she _always_ gets her way.” Finn rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, but he winked when Amelia leaned against him, grinning.

“Besides,” Zorii said, as she buckled Shara back into the stroller, “I think we’re beginning to attract attention.”

It was true — a loose ring of onlookers had formed around them, and Armitage tensed, remembering Grace’s admonishment. _Not everyone gonna be as friendly as we are, sugar._ He couldn’t help but step closer to Rose, who was accepting a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Zorii. Poe followed suit, and then it was time for her to embrace Finn.

Once again, her hold endured just a little too long, but finally, reluctantly, she let go.

“It was good to see you Rose,” Finn said, and Armitage could tell he meant it, and all the other things that weren’t being spoken aloud. 

_It was good to see you well._

_It was good to see you_ alive.

“What’s going on here, folks?” A policewoman, middle-aged and haggard-looking, had appeared. Some of the gawkers scattered as she pushed her way through. When she saw Armitage and the other two men, she blinked rapidly. “Well I’ll be damned. As amusing as it is to see three of you in one spot, y’all might wanna move along.”

“We were just about to do that, Officer, thank you. All right then, Rose, and Rose’s shiny new friend,” Zorii said. “We come here every Tuesday, just about. Maybe we’ll see you again.”

“Maybe!” Rose declared, and her enthusiasm seemed sincere this time. She stood alongside him and watched the others leave, her eyes staying with them until they disappeared into the masses once more.

They walked slowly back to the bus stop. She didn’t take his hand this time, but she didn’t seem to mind when he crowded close to her beneath the sign, keeping his distance from the other travelers who had congregated there. 

“Oh,” she said at one point, looking up at him as they waited under the setting sun.

“What is it?” 

Slowly, she reached and ran her fingers through the hair at his temple, where shy Syl had almost touched him earlier.

Rose smiled. “It really does look like fire.”

**

They went home. They ate a quiet dinner together — even sat at the same table, for a change. Once again she asked if they could forgo their tryst, and Armitage agreed. There was no reason they couldn’t skip a week until she was feeling better, although he would have liked to give her a release in the hopes that it would relax — and distract — her, after the eventful day and the unexpected reunion. 

He read for an hour, finishing up _Cuckoo’s Nest_. When he put the book down, he yawned, hoping that for once his own day had been exciting and exhausting enough to drive him to slumber.

But it didn’t matter how much adrenaline had coursed through his veins then, nor how bone tired he felt now. 

Again, he couldn’t sleep.

It didn’t help that Millie, who had spent a few hours curled up next to him, started scratching at the door around one o’clock, looking for an escape.

“Yes, yes, silly cat,” he grumbled, throwing back the covers. “I’ll let you out for your nightly constitutional.”

Perhaps he’d step outside himself, take a look at the stars. See if anything in the sky had changed in a month. 

But when he opened the door, he heard soft music coming from above. Millie heard it, too. She padded down the hall and did a u-turn at the stairs, giving him a quizzical look before she ascended them — silently — on her little cat feet.

His curiosity piqued, he followed Millie up to find the door to the storage room open a crack, a light shining from within. The music droned on: some airy pop ballad with a female vocalist, wailing about lost love. An anthem meant for the heartbroken. 

“Oh, hey Millie,” he heard Rose say, for the cat had already slipped inside. “Come to keep me company?”

He nudged the door open a fraction more, so he could see her.

She was sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, facing the far wall, a half-empty bottle of wine on the carpet next to her, and a half-full glass cradled in her hands. She had shed one tank top and pair of shorts for another, these silky and pink and shimmering in the lamplight.

The sliver of the interior he could see certainly didn’t seem like a storage space. It looked like—

“You might as well come in.” She had turned to the door, and now she raised the glass to her lips, eyes locked on him over the rim. Took a sip, lowered the glass. “I heard you come up the stairs.”

“Forgive me, mis— Rose. I wasn’t trying to spy.” He slowly pushed the door the rest of the way open, confirming his suspicions. 

The room was a nursery.

Every surface — crib, changing table, dresser, chaise and ottoman — was draped in plastic sheeting, protected from the dust, but Rose had obviously just unrolled the plush rug on which she perched. It was a soft striped grey-and-white, complementing the stormy color of the walls. The one she faced, though, was adorned with a half-finished mural. A rotund sunburst peeked out from behind a cluster of fluffy clouds. One had a rainbow that led to the ground, where a bunch of animals were gamboling across green, green grass. 

All the objects painted therein — animate or not — had cartoonish faces and wide smiles. It was no doubt meant to be cute, but in the light thrown from the little lamp that sat in the corner, the grins looked maniacal, the painted eyes soulless.

“Finn and I were working on this the day Paige died. We let Amelia paint the grass.” She took another sip of wine. “Zorii and Poe were...somewhere else that day. I don’t remember now. I asked Paige if she wanted me to drive her to her doctor’s appointment, but she said no. Left early, to beat the traffic. ‘I expect to see a masterpiece when I get back,’ she said.”

Armitage sunk onto the carpet next to her. She didn’t notice that he had to move the wine bottle to do it, pushing it out of reach. Millie had taken up residence on the windowsill, lowering herself into a crouch. She was listening, too, he knew.

“She was...twenty-nine weeks, I think. Maybe thirty. It’s funny how the details sort of get fuzzy after awhile.” She laughed then, without mirth. “But she was starting to get _big_ , in any case. I liked to tease her about it. Pretty Paige, thin as a stick all our lives, ballooned out in the middle. She didn’t mind, though. She was so happy. We were all—” She set the glass down with a trembling hand, and the wine threatened to slosh out onto the pristine snowy surface of the carpet. “Well. I thought we were all happy. Turns out I was wrong. Found that out the hard way.”

“Rose, you don’t have to talk about it—”

“Leave me alone, then. But if you’re going to stay, you’re going to listen.” 

He made no move to get up, so she proceeded, her voice becoming flat, mechanical, as she recited the facts of her sister’s death.

“Paige went to the appointment. Everything looked good. She wanted to make _Bánh cuốn_ for dinner, but we were out of rice flour, so she stopped to pick some up at the market. Then she drove home. At a four-way six blocks from here, someone blew through a red light. Texting probably, but the traffic cameras weren’t clear. T-boned her car, on the driver’s side. They had to use the jaws of life to pry her body out of the wreckage.”

He touched her hand, then, where it lay on the carpet.

“We heard the sirens, but I didn’t think anything of it until an hour went by, then two, and Paige still didn’t come home. I was halfway to the scene of the accident when Zorii caught up to me. They couldn’t find her purse, but they had her phone, and Zorii was the first emergency contact. Bliss comes before Tico.”

“They probably thought she was her partner,” he offered, and she nodded in agreement, her eyes trained on the mural, vacant.

“I’m sure that’s exactly what they thought. So they called her and she and Poe rushed home. Paige was already in the morgue by then. They tried at the scene, but they couldn’t save the baby.”

Squeezing her fingers, Armitage leaned in and laid his lips on her shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t brush him off. There were only so many empty words one could say, and he said them now: “I’m so sorry, Rose.” But his body against hers, his lips on her skin: _that_ had weight. 

She dipped her shoulder away as he was about to kiss it a second time, dragging her hand from beneath his. Reclaiming the glass, she drained it with one gulp. “Poe told you, didn’t he? About what I did.”

He didn’t see any reason to deny it. “Yes.”

“Of course he did,” she scoffed. “Had to warn you, I suppose, that I’m unstable and irrational and—” She slammed her fist into the ground. “—stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Rose.”

“No? I thought that bringing you here would somehow fix...everything. Pretty ridiculous.”

“I don’t know if I can _fix_ anything. But I _can_ hold you, and I can help you forget, at least for a moment.” He leaned in again, chasing her body with his, and met her outstretched hands, holding him at bay. 

“What if I don’t want to forget? Huh? What if I want to sit up here until dawn and drink this entire fucking bottle of wine and wallow in my own misery?” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, love. Wallow if you must, but the wine...”

“I think it’s a great fucking idea. Spent three weeks in rehab, by the way, after my suicide attempt. Tried going to AA for awhile, but it never felt like I had gone far enough to belong there. Probably should have kept it up in retrospect, but to hell with it.” She tried to reach past him, for the bottle, but he caught her wrists in his hands. They were thin, delicate. He locked his long fingers around them. Held them tight, even when she squirmed in his grip.

“Let go.” When he didn’t comply, that spark of violence he had seen earlier rekindled in her tear-filled eyes. “I said, let go, Armitage, or I swear to Christ—”

“Are you going to hit me again? Hmm?” He released her, but before she could push him away or lift her hand to strike, he was cupping her anguished face in his hands. “Rose. Let me help you.”

Her lip curled back in a half-hearted snarl, but it was too late. The tears had begun to flow, and all the fight drained out of her limbs and from her face. She let him gather her in his arms.

“Oh God, why did it have to be today?” she choked out, between sobs. “Why did they have to show up today of all days?”

“The universe is cruel, sweet girl,” he murmured against the crown of her head, kissing her dark hair. _Crueler to you than most, it seems._ “You got through it once. You can get through it again.”

They stayed that way for a long time — her crying into his chest, him murmuring soothing words to her, rubbing her back. When she finally pulled away, she looked a fright. Red face and runny nose and bloodshot eyes.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He helped her to her feet, walked her through her own room to the en suite. Left her there for a moment to close up the nursery again. Someday, perhaps, it’d be a place full of sunshine, but for now it was just an empty room full of hungry ghosts.

The wine bottle he held over the sink in front of her, while she sat on the closed toilet seat and scrubbed her face with a cloth. Waited until she agreed, with a determined nod, then let the red liquid wash down the drain.

Armitage hovered as she readied herself for bed. Got a glass of water and placed it on her bedside table. Moved the trash can closer, just in case. Wanted to ask her if he could lie down with her, just to be nearby, but something told him to hold back.

She turned on the television, set the channel to Animal Planet. A group of border collie puppies were running amuck in a backyard, barking happily. 

Millie jumped up onto the bed, startling them both.

“Can she hang out up here with me?” Rose asked, as the cat climbed into her lap. She was still sniffling a bit, clutching a tissue.

“I’m sure she’ll stay as long as you’ll have her.” 

“Cool.” She was already petting Millie’s fur, long strokes from head to tail, and the cat had closed her eyes in satisfaction.

“I’m just downstairs if you need anything.”

“I know. Armitage?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” He could tell she meant it.

He retreated then, back down the stairs, down the hall and to his own room. There were no ghosts here that he could see, but he felt them all the same, lurking in the walls.

 _How can she go on living here?_ he wondered. _Locked in with all the pain and the memories?_

It was simple, he knew. It was for the same reasons he had remained with Phasma long after their blossoming love had wilted and expired. 

It was familiar. It was easy. It was _safe_. 

It was the same reason she couldn’t let go of the idea of Finn, even though Armitage was the one trapped in here with her now. 

It didn’t have to be a cage, though. She’d given him a taste of freedom today, and barring the strange encounter on the bus and the awkward meeting in the plaza, he’d enjoyed being out in the world. He’d try it again, if she were beside him.

He sat down at the foot of the bed. Let his elbows rest on his knees, rolled his shoulders and hung his head for a moment.

The creak of a floorboard in the hall made him look up.

She was standing in the doorway, backlit by the moon coming through the bay window, breathing hard.

“Rose, what’s wrong?” He straightened, started to rise, but he didn’t make it to standing.

She rushed to him, wrapping her fist in the silk of his pajama top and yanking his mouth down to hers. 

Their kisses until now had been close-mouthed, chaste even, compared to this. It was full of heat and desire and longing and it had him moaning, soft, against her lips.

 _This_ was the enthusiasm he’d wanted from her all along. Except now she was compromised, and clearly not thinking straight.

“Sweetheart, you’re inebriated,” he panted, as she moved her mouth to his throat, the same spot she had concentrated on earlier, on the bus. “I know what I said before, but we shouldn’t—”

“Not drunk,” she assured, between kisses. “Not enough to be confused, anyway. I want this. I want—” She was pushing him back so she could straddle him, knees on either side of his hips on the bed. Reaching down, she crossed her arms and took hold of the hem of her charmeuse top, pulling it up and over her head in one smooth motion. Leaving her breasts bare.

“Touch me,” she demanded, running her own hands over the soft flesh. “Please, Armitage. I need you to touch me.”

It was easy to comply — what she asked wasn’t beyond what he was already desperate to do. Her breasts filled his hands as he palmed them, squeezing.

She kissed him again, pressing closer and closer, rubbing her core against his cock, already engorged.

They separated just long enough to discard her shorts and his pajamas. She tore the buttons of his shirt herself, so recklessly in fact that one popped free, pinging across the room. It would roll under the bed, he was sure, a victim for Millie’s stalking. 

“Oops,” she said, faltering for a moment, but he drew her back into his lap. 

“It doesn’t matter.” All that mattered now was their need.

He laid back and watched as Rose sank onto his cock, biting her lip as she took him to the hilt. His hands found her hips as she began to move, steadying her.

If fucking her before had felt good, watching her from below now, raven hair slip over her shoulders against her soft skin, breasts bouncing with each roll of her hips, was ethereal. Every clench and slide and caress of her cunt around him was almost more than his brain could handle. She moaned, long and low, and it threatened to short circuit. 

“So good,” he breathed. The next words escaped before he could bite them back. “You’re so beautiful.” 

He knew immediately that he had made yet another gaffe. Her eyes opened, her grind against his pelvis halting mid-rock. Her look said, in spite of his actions, that she still didn't believe him. Didn’t believe that he found her beautiful or that he wanted her. 

That, even now, as he lay beneath her, his cock deep inside her, that he wasn’t somehow putting on an act.

The despondency in her voice — small, wobbling — threatened to break him. “Fuck me, yes, but don’t lie to me. I can’t—I can’t take it right now.”

“Rose.” He kneaded the flesh of her hips with his fingers, begging her with touch to understand. “I am _not_ lying to you. You...”

_Don’t tell her...show her._

With an undignified growl, he lunged up to meet her, crushing his lips to hers. She was too startled to do anything except yield, whimpering against his mouth. He pushed his tongue forward, past her teeth, to tangle with hers. Her fingers clutching at his shoulders, digging to the bone as he held her to his body and flipped them, all without slipping out of her. 

Bearing her down into the mattress, Armitage began to fuck into her, hard and fast. Inquired, breathless, between gritted teeth, as he thrust: “Am I hurting you, love?”

“No, _unnh_ ,” she groaned. “Feels good. Feels—” She lost her words to another moan. Her fingers wound in his hair, her own splayed around her on the pillow like a dark halo.

He was building too fast now that he was controlling the tempo, the clutch of her pussy too intoxicating _,_ so in spite of wanting to keep pounding into her at a breakneck pace, he slowed a fraction.

But she tugged roughly at his hair, hissing, “No, no, don’t slow down now. I’m almost—” Cried out when he increased the pace once more. “—there.” Gulped in a deep breath, her neck craning up so he could capture her mouth. 

The point of no return was looming ever closer. “I’m going to come, sweetheart, if I keep this up.”

“Then come,” she growled, against his mouth. “Come for me.”

The command — and a sudden clench of her muscles around him — was all it took, and Armitage was reduced from a whole man, in a split second, to just his nerves and where they connected with her — penis, mouth, hands, skin, hair. And then the pressure in his groin grew unbearable, until, shuddering, sweet release. 

Three-four-five more rough snaps of his hips, and he collapsed, panting, against her. Felt pleasantly numb as she threaded her fingers through his hair.

“You didn’t—” he started, but then Rose’s grip tightened and she was pushing him back and down by the top of his head. He met her eyes for a flash, and her expression told him all he needed to know.

He scrambled to comply, kissing his way down her stomach, snaking his arms under her thighs and lifting so he had better access. She watched him, her breath caught in her throat.

Then he dove in, tongue first, like she was a rich dessert after an unsatisfying meal, just waiting to be devoured.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” she moaned from above, and he lifted his eyes enough to watch as she writhed, her eyes shut, her hands fisted in the covers. “You _are_ fucking good at this. Oh, _fuuuuck,”_ she moaned. 

_Your turn, mistress,_ he thought, as he took the bud of her clitoris between his lips and sucked. 

She had been close, because within seconds she jerked up against his mouth, thighs quaking, knees shaking around his head, as she came, her cries of pleasure echoing through the room.

He gave her one final swipe with his tongue, earning one last shudder as she calmed. Rested his chin on the soft skin of her abdomen and smiled.

“I take it you found that satisfactory?” he asked. She was lying there, staring up at the ceiling, slack-jawed. 

“Mmmhmmm.”

“And I please you?”

“Mmmmm.”

He moved back up the bed, stretched alongside her. They were both a mess but he didn’t care. Armitage only wanted to be close to her.

She had shut her eyes and didn’t protest when he arranged himself so that his arm was tucked beneath her breasts, his lips near her ear. 

“Are you still with me, love?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Still here. For the moment. Sleepy though.”

“Good, because I need you to understand something. I’m not a machine, Rose,” he declared. “I haven’t been programmed to act a certain way. I’m a person with ideas and feelings and desires and needs. When I tell you you’re beautiful, it’s because you _are_ beautiful.” 

She started to make a face, but he nipped her gently on the ear, and she pulled her head back, turned to look at him.

“You are,” he insisted. “So stop thinking any differently.” Kissed the tip of her nose. The corner of her mouth. The wrinkles between her brows.

Finally, she nodded, defeated. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he agreed. 

Slowly, steadily, she relaxed in his embrace. He pulled her a little closer, then, against the warmth of his body.

And for the first time in a month, Armitage found himself falling, with a deep and reassuring ease, into slumber.

** 

The squeak of his bathroom door shutting was what woke him, hours later. Sunlight streamed through the window and the open doorway, bathing the bed in a warm glow. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he reached and turned the alarm clock on the nightstand so he could see its angry red LED numbers. 

_9:34._ The air in the room was already growing stuffy, thanks to the sun. It was going to be another hot, sticky day. 

One of them had pulled the covers over them during the night, and when he peeled the duvet back to free his already gummy-feeling legs, his eyes caught on a red stain on the white sheets. 

It was the shape of an oval, already dried. On Rose’s side of the mattress.

 _Shit. You_ did _hurt her, you imbecile._ He had been too caught up in the moment to realize, and he had torn something inside of her, maybe, or... 

The bathroom door swung open and she emerged, back in her pajamas. 

“Oh, that,” she said, when she saw where his gaze had landed. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll throw them in the wash in a bit.”

He reached for her, but she was standing too far away. “I’m so sorry, Rose, if I hurt you.”

“You didn’t. I got my period. That’s all.” Her mouth was a grim, flat line, and her eyes were hard, like flint. The tenderness of the early morning hours was gone, like a dream. 

Armitage’s stomach sunk. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Guess you’re off the hook for another week.”

“Rose, I—”

“This—this was a mistake,” she said, her eyes traveling around the room, across the bed, and over his still naked body. “I broke my own rules. I was—” She breathed out, shook her head. “It won’t happen again.”

“What? Why?” He frowned, shaking his head. “Rose, don’t—”

“Just throw the sheets in the washer. I’ll put mine in, too.”

And then she was gone.

Somehow it hurt more than all the times before, when she had cruelly dismissed him, to watch her walk away of her own accord. 

He was confident that the word she had been about to say was _weak. I was weak._

Armitage found himself pulling the covers back up, curling into a ball beneath them. 

He had thought they’d reached an understanding. He had thought they’d finally made progress. _One small step forward, towards something good._

So why, as he lay in stunned silence in the morning sunshine, did it feel like they’d just taken two steps back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all may have ascertained by now that I'm not the speediest writer. 
> 
> As I noted at the end of chapter four, I am going to put this fic on hiatus for a short period so I can concentrate on some other things. I have an exchange fic in the pipeline, as well as another one shot I'm working on (both Gingerrose), plus I hope to complete a few more chapters of Sing A Lunar Song soon. 
> 
> So It All Stars With Wanting will be taking a break until mid-/end of February 2021. Look for the next chapter (most likely back to Rey's POV) around then. 
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me, and thanks as always for reading! 
> 
> PS - If you get notifications that this fic is being updated more than once over the next few days, it's because I'm going back to the previous chapters and fixing the paragraph spacing so it's not so open! Sorry if it confuses anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments very much appreciated! Questions welcome too, even if my answer ends up being some variation of "it's explained in the next chapter", haha.


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